


Please Don't Let It Rain Every Day

by Anonymous



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Clyde Cries A Lot, Hurt/Comfort, Is A Slow Story, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Hatred, Small Dose of Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It rarely rains in South Park. Clyde and Craig were indifferent to the rain until they became to love it when it showered and soaked them in that particular night.That was the only time they loved the rain.
Relationships: Clyde Donovan/Craig Tucker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31
Collections: Anonymous





	1. It Rains In South Park

**Author's Note:**

> I came across much many of these feelings of doubt about posting this fic. But I had this resolve resonate within me that really wants to immortalize the imaginations I'm having every time I feel bored or whatever. I know my writing would be trashy and corny but I guess if I didn't write this now, I would forget this in due time. 
> 
> If some of you readers did feel good in this fic, I'd be soooo happy.

What I love about every Saturday morning is that you don’t get to do any school-related work for two days. I know I sound like a cliché teenager that hates school and everything that it stands for, but for me, a break from a week of hard work- yes, I do study- offers me a sense of respite. A calm, pleasant feeling that gradually heals my tired mind from all the stress it underwent from the week before.

I stretched a bit on my bed, releasing tensions of my body from my long sleep. I glanced sideways to my nightstand and saw the digital clock displaying the time: 7:49AM. It’s still early to start the day so I may just sleep again. I closed my eyes again, slipping the blanket all over me, stirring a bit to the side and trying to let the nice and comforting sleep take over me once again.

.

.

.

…

Okay, I can sleep no more then.

I got up on my bed, slipping out of the covers, looking at the clock displaying the time 7:56AM with its orange neon-like light. I sorted and arranged my bed before going downstairs to the living room, not minding that I’m still wearing the green pajamas I wore in my sleep -- I’m in my own house anyway. I see my dad sitting on the couch watching on a sports channel highlighting people with golf sticks on their backs. He noticed my presence without looking at his back.

“There are pancakes in the kitchen for breakfast. Don’t drown them in maple syrup.” Dad warmly says.

“Thanks.” I muttered, making a beeline to the kitchen. He only gets to make breakfast and eat it whenever he wakes up way early for work. He manages the shoe store he himself founded in the mall at 9:30 in the morning; and due to his indefinite night work, he usually gets home around midnight. That’s why he rarely wakes up early.

I’m thinking of waking up early too, just to make him breakfast and probably a packed lunch too, but I can’t wake myself earlier than 7 in the morning.

I see the mentioned plate on the table with 3 stacks of pancakes -- seems like dad’s trying to fatten me up again. I drenched the pancakes with maple syrup, taking note that the bottle is beyond half-empty hence, the  _ don’t drown them _ remark from earlier.

I picked up a fork from the utensils cabinet and brought the plate with me to the couch. I sit on the other side of the couch near my dad and start picking at my food -- it’s cool that my dad doesn’t mind when I eat on the couch. I watched the program in front of me which features a golf match between teams. It didn't take a long time for me to get annoyed and can’t stand how boring everything is. From the old and lazy announcers, to the slow-walking players, and the so-called action they seem to be doing, it’s so ridiculous! Why is my dad even watching this?

“I didn’t know you liked golf, dad.”

“No. Baseball’s in 8:15,” he briefly replied earning a light chuckle from me. I remember how much of a sucker he is for baseball. It looks okay watching it but playing it sucked though. I was reminded of the baseball game we had in fourth grade and how much we hated it.

“But what’s interesting is that most golf players I know are rich, as if it’s a requisite for a player to have tons of money to play golf,” he added in an enthused tone.

Oh, the stereotype. Like whenever you see rich people in movies, they always play golf. But what justifies the movie stereotypes is that it happens in real life.

“Hmph. I bet Token’s family golf all the time,” I joked. My dad laughed at my remark. The sight of my happy father brings a sincere smile to my face. With him being busy 24/7, he hardly ever gets a time for us to bond, or at least talk. He must get lonely at times, but whenever we get time to ourselves, I carry out any attempts to procure a smile from him.

He wholeheartedly throws his back off working for me, so this is the least I can do for him as his son.

_ Ding! _

My phone blared a single ring from the wooden TV stand. I don’t usually put my phone there but being the slob I am, I’m kind of thankful I had put it where I can easily find it. I put the finished plate of pancakes to the coffee table beside the couch and extended my arm to grab the phone from the cabinet stand. It’s a message from Token.

_ 8:12AM _

_ Token Black _

_ Good morning, Clyde! _

_ Don’t forget we’ll be making the outline of our group presentation in 1:00pm. _

Darn it.  _ Don’t get to do any school-related work for two days  _ my ass.

Although my dad won’t be there to see me by that time and he would promptly approve of it, I still feel like telling him anyway.

“Dad, we have group homework to do at Token’s.” I said to him while he scrolls down at his work phone for messages.

“Okay then,” he turns off the TV with the remote in his hand, standing up and getting his coat that is hung on the handle of the stairs. 

“Looks like I’ll be skipping my morning dose of baseball today. My secretary messed up the files I gave to her yesterday so I have to be early today.” He says, crouching down in front of the cabinet drawer to get his car keys.

He also took his wallet out, fiddling with it for a while and took out a 50 dollar bill and handed it to me. I stared in confusion at the large bill in front of me, then he spoke to inform me its purpose.

“There’s hardly anything in the fridge for you to cook, eat whatever you want and spend the rest on groceries. I’ll be bringing something for dinner tonight.” So he’ll be home early. I took the bill from his hand. Not that I mind the awesome generosity of my dad, but I wish he could keep much money to himself instead of wasting it for my sake.

He stepped out from the doorway then abruptly stopped his walk as if he forgot to do something. He turned back to me and gave a warming smile, “Take care, son. I love you.” The bright rays of sunlight complemented his radiant feature.

I sent a smile to his direction, raising a hand to wave at him as he gently closed the door. The indoors immediately darkens as it originally was, leaving me alone, dispirited in this solitary home. My smile faded, my arm slumped on the couch I was sitting on. Such painful silence sprung the house as I glumly gazed at the closed door.

* * *

I packed my things and went out of my house by 12:30. The sun doesn’t look as lively as it is in the morning and large clumps of cloud loomed around it coloring the sky a dull and boring gray. The possibility of snowing is still low.

I walked in front of Craig’s house and saw past their window that his sister, Tricia, was yelling some things at someone, probably Craig. I might as well just wait for him to come out and walk together.

The door opened with a loud thud and came Craig practically flying from it accompanied with the loud banters of the family members which emanated from their doorstep. Craig is clad in jeans, plain black shirt, and his eternity-beloved chullo hat, covering the entirety of his hair. The weather’s cold, he should wear a coat.

As if reading my mind, he says, “Yeah, Tricia lost all of my coats while doing laundry.”

The Tucker Residence’s door blaringly thudded once again as it closes.

“You didn’t bring anything with you?” I asked, starting to walk again on the sidewalks but with Craig this time. The said boy nodded in agreement.

“Because my brain is enough to provide all the info needed in our work,” he said in a monotonous, bored tone. He looks like he doesn’t want to go either, but it’s not like we have a choice or something.

“Shut up, Craig.” I muttered, sending a smirk to him and he just continued staring straight at the sidewalks.

The Black residence is located at the better part of the neighborhood within the county. It surely will not take us to get there that long as anyone wouldn’t take long to get anywhere in South Park. But the walk this time though feels as long with Craig putting up this impenetrable barrier of silence around him. I remember him doing this sometime in the recent weeks and I couldn’t help but to wonder why. I attempted to break the silence.

“My father gave me 50 bucks to waste. Want me to score us some drugs?”

“Fuck no,” he firmly says, yet his gaze does not avert from its original angle. It’s a bad attempt to liven up the unpleasant atmosphere but an effort nonetheless.

“Then what do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

He quirked up his brows in affirmation.

“Something’s up with you lately?”

“No.”

The single-worded replies ticks me off, but I know better than to piss Craig over this. It’s actually better that he still chooses to reply despite not wanting to talk instead of deliberately ignoring me. I’m sure he’ll tell me what’s going on whenever he feels like it. I’ll just be patient.

Craig sighs and turns to me, his face covered in slight concern. “Nothing’s up. I just don’t feel awesome today.”

“Like you’ve ever been awesome before,” I scoffed, patting his back and beaming at him. He cringed at the touch but still lifted a half smile on his face.

I’ll be patient for now.

* * *

Token assigned me to do our slides. You’d think it’d be easy—heck, I thought it’d be so easy—but Tweek’s been giving me a hard time. Our presentation is about the lifestyle of Englishmen in the 17th century and how their culture has managed to remain in the span of centuries. With him and his excessive fear of breaking down in front of the class, he constantly orders me to change his part of the slides to simplify more terms he’s going to elaborate by then.

It’s funny that Tweek kind of hated the subject because its primary focus of hot beverage is tea rather than his beloved coffee.

The blond goes to my side of the table once more.

“Clyde, I-uh..could you please… ngh!”

“It’s okay, Tweek, I don’t mind.” Because to help him, is to help ourselves have good grades.

He asked me to change the word ‘precipitate’ to ‘trigger’.

* * *

I typed and typed, casually designing the slides.. and  _ look _ at the time, It’s already 7 in the evening! It’s actually the first time in my life to do something so boring I haven’t noticed the time flying by.

Not to mention the noticeable grumbling of my stomach. I’ve only eaten nothing besides the pancakes in the morning.

“Top of the evening to y'all, laddies!” Token jokingly exclaimed.

“Brits aren’t scots, Token,” Craig commented in a dull tone.

I laughed, “We  _ really  _ hate this subject, don’t we?” Their groaning conformed to my indignation.

* * *

I associated Token’s house with partying and having fun but  _ screw  _ me the rest of the day just passed by and I felt nothing more than boredom. No witty jokes from Token, no grunts and groans from Craig, and no calming the hell out of Tweek. This day—much to my dismay—is so uneventful it felt like I've forgotten everything I'd done just earlier.

I typed the last sentence in the paper Token gave me. As I’ve finished, I noticed that I’m now the only one sitting at the table and they’ve already positioned themselves on Token’s huge bed. Token beamed at me.

Ah, finally.

“I’m gonna get us some lunch.” Token went out of the room.

Tweek grabbed four of Token’s controllers on a whim. We all know what that means!

With much excitement, I stood up fast, my seat scratching the fine wooden surface of the floor and immediately set out to the maroon-furnished wooden cabinet stand to turn the TV on and set up the gaming console. I opened this large cardboard box—out of place for an opulent household—full of gaming discs. Feeling so psyched, I can’t control my giddy childish side to stop shaking so much from elation—it’s like Tweek with his anxiety. It’s okay though, it’s my way of compensating for the boredom I’ve endured the whole day.

“We can mess around in GTA, kill each other in COD, or watch Craig get killed again and again in RDR.”

“Fuck you, Clyde,” Craig retorted with a small grin, earning a laugh from Tweek and I.

“I have something though,” Tweek said, his face blushing in embarrassment. He scuffled through his bag and let out a console game in its blue casing.

“The heck is Rayman Legends?” I asked confusingly. From the looks of the character plastered in the blue casing of the disc, it looks like a kids’ game. The blond’s blush turned into a flustered one; he looked white as a sheet.

“I-it’s a multiplayer game!” he exclaimed, hanging his head down in shame. “It’s stupid,” he gestured to return the case to his bag but Craig grabbed his wrist.

“You wouldn’t suggest it if it’s bad, right?” Craig gave Tweek a warm and reassuring smile, a look reserved for Tweek and Tweek only. Tweek’s face lit up once more and the scene of my friends being a sweet, sappy and happy couple also brought a smile within me. The blond handed me the case.

I put the disc on the console and wait until it  _ eats _ it and loads the program. I was lying if I’d say I’m not jealous of the thing that they have. Okay, yes, my friends make me happy all the time, my father tries his best for me to feel loved in our dented family, but I still feel something missing that can only be filled by a certain company. But you know what? I had a girlfriend twice and they still haven’t managed to fill that empty feeling.

So what is this hollow sensation that I keep experiencing? Will I ever meet that certain someone that can erase them? I'm at my friends house, hanging and having fun with them and yet, I still feel kind of lonely—the worst kind of loneliness.

“Clyde?” Craig uttered from the bed, taking me out of my reverie. “The games on, dude.” The main menu screen has popped up and I'm still in front of the TV meandering on my own sad thoughts. I turned at him and saw his face painted with concern.

And as I always do to make everyone relieved of preventing me crying,

I smiled the pain away.

I was positioning myself in Token’s vast bed, getting a controller from Tweek when the said owner came back to the room.

“Chinese’s in 10 minutes!”

I was expecting pizza, but too much repetition can make the food go bland in our tastes. “Thanks, Token, you’re the best!” I said with faux excitement.

“You don’t have to be such a suck-up.” Token’s gaze then went to his TV, “I don’t have a game like that, what’s that?” He asked nonchalantly, not taking a note that we just flipped his gadgets over. But with the years we’ve been spending at Token’s, I’ll be surprised if he did mind it.

“Rayman Legends,” Craig replied. “Graphics look goofy and childish but it’s good.” Tweek handed Token his custom-made personal controller, an elegant purple one with a yellow capital ‘T’ at one of the handles.

“Up to 4 players? That’s rare.” Token commented.

After connecting mine and Token’s controller to the console, I asked how it is played.

“Just press R2, go ballistic, and break stuff,” Craig says.

Tweek really can’t help it and corrects him, “It’s a puzzle/platform based game, so we would help each other out so we’d reach the goal.”

So we did just that. I didn’t know that you can actually die there but you’d be revived by other players. For what seemed like a child’s game actually possesses hard gameplay. Token suggested Craig to be the reviver since he dies too much that he should just stay back behind. But Craig still dies and dies, over and over again.

“Augh, Craig for the love of God please stop dying!” Token says snidely and the three of us broke off laughing at Craig.

“Fuck off,” his face in a miffed expression but mixed with slight blush of embarassment. We still can’t stop cackling that we have to stop playing for a while. Pissed off Craig looks so cute.

I moved my character to let others resume the game too, shrugging the gay thoughts away. Eugh.

A slightly loud buzz sounded from the corner of the room. Token got up and left his controller at his nightstand—which looks too big for a nightstand—and left the room. Chinese is here, and my stomach once again rumbles loudly at the thought of food.

We three resumed the game without Token, and Craig’s death multiplied and I stifled a laugh and smiled instead at how Craig sucked in gaming.

“Stop with the smug grin, Clyde.”

“Stop dying then.”

“I hate you so much.”

At some point in the level, I got tired of reviving Craig so I just let him be a floating bubble following Tweek and I. Tweek seems to follow my idea too.

“Aren’t you gonna revive your  _ honey _ , Tweek?”

“Huh?” Tweek asked, seemingly puzzled by my remark. I see him tilting his head at me at the corner of my eyes.

“Craig and I aren’t a thing anymore,” Tweek casually says. The fuck?!

I paused the game and looked at the both of them.

“Really? Since when?” I didn't realize the loud volume of my tone until Tweek’s hands and head started shaking violently.

“Y-you uh.. ngh! did n- GAH!” Tweek tried to inform me between tics. Craig put a hand at his nape and rubbed down at his back. He decides to continue Tweek’s sentence.

“You didn’t know? It was like four years ago,” he says in a calm manner.

“Five,” the seemingly now-relaxed blond corrected. How come I never knew anything about this?

The door of the room opened and gave way to a guy holding large plastics at both hands with lots of cardboard bowls in it.

“Token, did you know? Craig and Tweek had broken up!” He must share the same sentiments as mine… but he didn’t even make a peep!

“Oh yeah,” he looks up as if having some dots connect in his mind.

I turned to look back at the now (actually) ex-couples. “How come you’ve never told me about this?” I asked, feeling betrayed. Shouldn’t best friends always tell each other about these things?

Instead of Craig or Tweek answering, Token did. “They didn’t tell me either, Clyde. They stopped being lovey-dovey in public before 7th grade so I know that they assumed it’s okay to stop faking their relationship then.”

“Wow,” is the word that I can only say at that time.

.

.

“The  _ fuck _ !” I slapped both of my hands to my forehead, groaning loudly in frustration. I know I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but fuck I’m so fucking dense!

I felt a hand in my back, rubbing me gently. Fuck, now I’m Tweek but the one with the uncontrollable crying.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have confirmed my thoughts if it weren’t for today,” Token reassures me. I know he means well but he doesn’t have to lie just to comfort me.

My temper tantrum signifies as the end of the good mood we’re having. Fuck me.

We stopped playing and ate the Chinese food Token bought for us instead. It’s delicious but the cravings of food weren't there anymore.

Look at the time, it’s nearing 10pm. Dad said something about buying groceries and stuff. My dad would be so disappointed in me. Look at me, effortlessly upsetting people once again. Thank God for gracing with me with such a talent.

“Thanks for everything, Token. I think I have to go home now,” I said.

“You should bring these two rascals with you too,” he suggested.

Before that, I tried helping Token clean off our mess on his floor, his table and everywhere but he outright refused. I loved Token for being such a kind person but letting himself clean our mess just brings guilt within me and I hate it.

He opened the (huge) door of his house and the outside welcomed us with a loud crashing noise of the rain. We can’t see the rain droplets but we can feel it. Not to mention the winds are strong too, making the trees dance along the loud music of the rain droppings.

“I don’t have an umbrella,” I stated.

“Me too.” Craig added.

“Boy-scouted!” Tweek happily exclaims as he released an olive green foldable umbrella from his bag. It looks like it can only cover Tweek himself.

“Could you drive us, Token?” I requested. Though I hate to ask and ask things from Token just because he always provides us with almost anything, this is the time that I just have to.

“My car’s out of juice just this morning.” Token sadly informs. Both Craig and I groaned.

“Well, we’ll just run through it I guess.” Craig proposed, looking at me to know if I’d refuse. I wouldn’t want to make my dad wait for me for our dinner though, so I nodded at him.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek says. I smiled at him to dispel his worries.

“Take care, guys. It rarely rains in South Park!” Token warns. What does that supposed to mean? He pushed a button on the wall beside him and the (of course everything’s big when you’re rich) elegant black gate slowly opened.

The gate let out a loud thump as it fully opened and even without consulting with each other, that was our cue to run at full speed.

We blasted out of the Black residence practically flying, tackling every rain drop we come into contact and fighting the waves of strong and cold winds against us. The street lights may have barely given us some knowledge of our whereabouts—it’s night and incredibly foggy—but we had long since memorized the map of South Park since birth. We kept running, and running until he almost slipped on the curb of the sidewalk. Instead of getting worried, I let a loud laugh and he followed suit.

I felt my coat and shirt getting heavy from all the water it had accumulated and it reminded me of how I used to play in the rain when I was younger. I decided to let out my childish desires once more. I skipped in my path as I ran, screaming and laughing my guts out to release the shivers of the cold in my body. I felt my hair sticking to my forehead as collected waters from it trickles down to my body, with this recollected sense of euphoria, I felt like becoming one with the rain again.

Though I couldn’t see Craig from the darkness of streets, I can feel him smiling. He lets out a loud laugh as he keeps himself near me, hearing his steps too may have implied him skipping along with me in the rain. The tone of his laugh was so unlike him, this is Craig experiencing unadulterated happiness—a side of him that I rarely see.

I found myself stopping on my tracks, halting my steps near the orange ray of light from a streetlight and he did so too, and yet our laughs still were not ceasing. Without knowing why, we held hands and merrily danced and sang in the rain. As if our minds were connected, we both sang the same song that first came to us.

_ Here I am, horribly wet from the rain _

I glanced at our tall, slanted shadows beside us and saw two boys dancing, holding hands and spinning to keep each other’s stance. The view was that of a vintage music box with two tiny dolls spinning to no end. I imagined and feel myself and Craig being those dolls

It was magical.

I looked back at his face slightly darkened by the night. He grins to his ears between laughs and some of his hair stuck out of his chullo revealing its night-like grace, augmenting the face of what I just regarded as my best friend.

He looked so beautiful. 

_ With no shelter, no one to seek help from _

The lyrics were ironic, because both Craig and I know we are one another’s shelter. I gripped tightly the hands of my very own shelter and pulled him close to myself, tending him with an adoring embrace to let him know he can seek help from me and let myself be his shelter anytime he wanted.

We laughed our hearts out as we did, not minding that we looked like drunks who’re partying in the streets.

We were completely drunk in happiness.

I felt our bodies shake from the cold and yet we gave each other so much warmth from this embrace. I felt an undying warmth from his hands, from his arms, from his chest, from his head! I was so happy I felt hot streaks of tears stream down from my eyes, joining the cold waters on my cheeks. I felt his cling to me tighten once more.

We became one in the rain.

The laughing had ceased and we stayed there for moments, not getting tired of each other’s company. Smile covering my face, and no one could ever take this away. My heartbeat paced up and completely blurred my mind and judgment. I see three words on the back of my head and my heart says to read it aloud.

_ I love you. _

Thankfully my mind got the better of my body before I spoke those sinful words. I jostled lightly away from him, breaking our moment of…what? Romance?

_ Romance… _

I felt my cheeks flare up and warmth radiated from all parts of my face, combatting the cold waters on it.

Craig seems to revert back from his old self as he looked down at the ground looking embarrassed to what has transpired back then.

“We should go back,” he shyly suggested.

I hummed in agreement.

We resumed the path back to our homes, but this time we just walked as our entire clothing was wet anyways. We were accompanied with an uncomfortable silence, feeling as we just crossed the line we once painted when we started to be friends.

I know Craig will simply brush this thing off. He’s the manliest man in our age I know. The breakup with Tweek just proved that. I’ll just hop along that ride too. Whatever happened earlier is just two guys being weird. No strings attached. No weird feelings. No homo.

Nothing happened under the orange light of that certain streetlight.

Our homes are now to be seen as we turned to the right to this street. It’s convenient that our houses are just beside each other, whenever we want to do something with each other, it’ll only take us seconds to get to one another.

_ Do something with each other… _

Oh fuck me.

_ Fuck me… _

Holy shit, something’s really wrong with me. A goodnight sleep can fix this, I hope.

I turned at Craig and waved at him as we were now in the front of his house, “Good night, Craig.” I was supposed to say goodbye, what the hell!

He gave me a smile that resembled that of what he just had under that orange light. “Good night to you too, Clyde.”

I felt my cheeks blushing again for like the umpteenth time and just let it slide, like Craig’s gonna see anyways.

I reciprocated his smile with another one too, he then went inside his house.

For what seemed an uneventful day just turned into such an unforgettable one. Look how the turn tables.

* * *

“Clyde! Why are you drenched from head to toe? Why didn’t you bring an umbrella with you?” Dad scolded me yet his voice was just full of worry.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know it’s gonna rain today.” Well.. I mean tonight- It’s been a long day.

“Get changed right this instant. We can’t afford you getting sick.” Because me getting sick makes my Dad stressed and worried so much that he always wanted to call an ambulance for me.

I removed my clothes and just stripped off to my boxers (I’m in my own house anyways) and squeezed my clothes on the rug knowing it can absorb much water—yeah I am one hell of a slob.

I went up to my room and stripped out of my boxers (I’m alone in my room, okay?) and with the wet clothes on my arms, I just threw them on the hamper, mixing the wet with dry ones and I’m gonna launder tomorrow anyways.

I showered with warm water because they say so. Dunno why I even have to shower after I get wet in the rain. But being in the nice warm water really felt better than that of the cold rain from earlier. Then I remembered the events under that streetlight again.

Our shadow figures.

His tender embrace.

His smiling face.

And just like that, a part of my body just went stiff.

* * *

My father greeted me with a smile on the kitchen table. He’d just waited for like five minutes and I made sure not to get that long in the shower because of that…

…

Oh God, stop making me remember!

I did not do  _ that  _ though. It’s hella gay. But I don’t know why the thought allures me into arousal. I think I’m hella gay now. No! NO!

Okay, I’ll just stop. I will sit in this chair, have a decent (too late for a) dinner with my Dad, eating this...

“Wow, a rotisserie chicken!” I gaped in awe at the tender, savory-looking chicken plated on the table. My hunger went back again, waiting to be satisfied once again.

I took a bite out of the thigh part of the chicken and it was so soft and tender. The sudden influx of tasty juices in my mouth made me moan loudly, earning a befuddled look from my dad. He laughed at me and that made me feel embarrassed, but I also laughed at how ridiculous a cooked chicken can make me go wild.

Everything was going well. I asked about his work, he said he was fine, saying things like Laura’s (Craig’s mom) secretary skills are exemplary work but becomes inconsistent whenever she feels tired. I suggested that he hires an assistant for her but Laura actually refused the idea.

“Craig’s mom would be delighted to spend more time with his son.” I said.

“Okay, I’ll play the family card on her tomorrow.” It’s ridiculous how Dad gets no day off at his job. He should do something about it.

The conversation was really going well.

“Well how’s your day, son? Anything good happened?”

Until  _ that _ .

Heavens do know how to piss me off.

My dad noticed redness creeping up on my cheeks. He smiled at me to soothe the tension within me.

“Well. We did the homework at Token’s.”

He hummed to order continuation.

“We played something fun in his console.”

He hummed again.

“We ate Chinese.”

He hummed again. This man knows I have something hiding.

“Craig and I ran into the rain to get home.”

And that’s  _ it _ . He tilted his head, closed his eyes for a second, then knowingly smiled at me.

ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod

I felt my shoulders tense up, shuddering in horror. My eyes widened and felt itchy and watery. Everything now feels so hot, I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!

I suddenly felt hands gripping mine, a coarse thumb brushing over my smooth skin. I looked up and saw my dad giving the best smile he could ever give to his loved one- and that’s me.

“I will always love you, son,” he says with such compassion I felt my heart breaking into pieces. I slumped my head against his hands and I started breaking down. Sobbing, sniveling like a child. This boy he raised perfectly was so imperfect yet he still chooses to love him like the perfect father he is.

I really don’t fucking deserve my dad.

A hand found itself caressing the hair above my head. It soothed me so much, I almost immediately stopped crying. I didn’t know that would stop it, only  _ he _ would know that.

I looked up to him and said the words you won’t usually hear from a 17 year old boy.

“I love you so much, dad.”

  
  



	2. I Wish It Is Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read the first chapter I posted like 3 times already and I couldn't say how much cringe I was feeling towards all of that. This is beyond embarrassing!
> 
> Warning: Some self-sexual scene ahead (only 300 words I guess? I didn't know why I put that to be honest)
> 
> Dec. 7, 2020: Edited some grammar issues, and decided to just leave the self-sexual scene because it's hard to rewrite. Heck, I can't even write a thing anymore.
> 
> December 9: Finally had the motivation to finally edit that graphic scene. But I'd rather let the rating still stay on Mature.

A loud yet, blurred buzzing poured out from a direction beside me. Is it my phone? Is someone calling me? I can’t pull myself up from my bed to get the phone on the nightstand. It must have been a while but the buzzing sound still lingered around as it seemingly increased in clarity and volume, making me determine the original source of the sound.

Today’s Sunday and it’s 10AM and the alarm won’t stop for at least 5 minutes.

That was unlike me, really. I hardly ever wake up past 8 in the morning.

I tried opening my eyes, fighting the weight of each lid. It’s annoying that the morning sun is glaring angrily from the window beside my bed (I should’ve closed the curtains before sleeping) now my eyes fogged up from sunlight irritation. I pulled the string from the curtains to close the passage of burning light from the outside. My room promptly dimmed but with the thin cloth of the curtain, a small amount of light managed to provide some vision in the surroundings.

I got up on my bed and slapped the shit out of the alarm, effectively stopping the blaring noise that continuously bother my morning.

My mind felt hazy, my vision was fuzzy, and my body felt groggy as if I’ve been drunk as hell last night.

_We were completely drunk in happiness._

My forehead throbbed in pain from the sudden emergence of a disturbing memory.

Did last night just happen?

Yes. It happened. The game, the rain, the streetlight, the chicken. It all happened.

Unfortunately, it’s not a dream. To look into those memories though gave the impression of watching a ship about to sink, to witness a disaster about to ensue and I was just there, ignorantly enjoying all of it. I wish I could take those back. But as if to wander in these thoughts will make these circumstances less of an agony to my existence.

So I got up from my bed, sorted and arranged it neatly once again. I grabbed my phone on the nightstand, and as I was going out of my room, I walked past a mirror and noticed that I wasn’t able to change into my pajamas before sleeping in the night. 

I smelled freshly cooked scrambled eggs and fried bacon the moment I sat foot from the final step of the stairs. The TV is on and is in the same sports channel from yesterday. Isn’t Dad supposed to be at work today? I made a beeline to the kitchen and saw my father at the kitchen counter stirring a second glass of orange juice with a small wooden spoon. Two plates of scrambled eggs and fried bacon are positioned on the table. Like the dependent kid I am, I sat at one of the seats, staring patiently at my parent finishing my breakfast course.

“Mall’s closed for two days due to a large-scale fire at the department store.” Dad says, grabbing the two glasses of orange juice and sitting at the dining table in front of me. I saw bags of groceries on the ground just before the refrigerator, mentally hitting myself for forgetting such an easy task.

My childish reflex turned on and immediately drank the juice as it's a habit I can't seem to shake off since I was young. It’s sweet with a touch of sourness accompanied with that dull, lurid taste that is of every artificial powder-flavored drink. I grew accustomed to such taste, so it’s still great for me nonetheless.

“Sorry for not buying the groceries,” I shyly apologized.

He just gave me his signature for-my-son smile and started to pick on his food and I recalled the events of last night at this very table. Like how I just broke down after my dad making me realize what these newfound feelings actually meant, and outright accepting and tolerating me for possessing these feelings.

Clyde Dono _man_ is straight… until the rain… until that dinner.

Those moments, those feelings, they were just so quick I didn’t have the time to comprehend and contemplate it before understanding them. The whole realization of that other side of me only spanned for a whole day, making me still confused whether I was really _that_ or something. Maybe I was just pressured into thinking that my dad will disown me for having such thoughts so I broke down crying, perhaps then… maybe I’m not- you know… gay.

_Then how will you explain the thing in the warm shower?_

“Best served while hot, Clyde,” my dad warmly says, taking me out of my own musings. I must have been staring at my food for some time. Whatever happened last night at this very dining table, I wish my dad will not bring it up.

And he did just that.

What an awesome dad.

* * *

“Have some plans for today, Clyde?” My dad asked. We were watching a baseball match and the competition seemed pretty one-sided with the scores of 2-11 and they’re still just at the 2nd inning.

“I don’t know.” I wish there’s something to do though. We just hung out in Token’s so that’s _that_ , Tweek’s at work today so that’s a no-go, and Craig…

After what happened last night, even though he’s my best friend, I bet he would stay the fuck out of me for days before talking to me again. So yeah, that’s a big x-mark over there.

“I’m hanging out with the Tuckers today. Want to come with me?” my dad kindly offers. It’ll be fun to see Dad having fun there. But reminder, big x-mark over there.

“I’m probably fine here, Dad.” Besides, I’ve got both of our clothes to launder.

“The laundry can wait, son.” He should stop the creepy and scary mind-readings.

Just as I am about to deflect again at his offer, his smile twisted into a sly smirk, implying why I should go there in the first place.

“Dad!” I whined childishly, causing him to let a loud laugh.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re making it too easy for me.”

“Stop bullying me!” And now I can’t contain the blush that completely covers my face, making my father’s chuckling get even louder.

He finally ceased, turning off the TV and getting his coat hung from the stairs—does he really need that? The house is literally just over _there_.

As he finally gets to the doorstep, I felt like it’s my turn to say, “Take care, dad.”

He smiled affectionately at me and laughs. “The house is literally just over _there._ ”

He should really stop with the mind-reading.

I looked at closed door this time with a smile. Finally my dad gets to relax his mind out from me for at least a while.

* * *

I remember the time in 5th grade when we’re playing around in our house; Tweek jumped so high from the ground that his feet went inside our sofa when he landed there. It took a lot of time convincing Tweek that my dad would not kill him for destroying our sofa. But you’d understand Tweek’s side: that it is in such good condition that it might look good as new if you cleaned it.

We bought a new set of couch the next week after that and my dad let us get wild in the basement instead, putting some of the old furniture we have to at least mimic the view of a living room. That’s the story of how that same dark brown cotton sofa stayed in our basement over the years, even until now.

In 8th grade, I realized why my dad did that. It’s because he’s actually a hoarder. Our old TV is in the basement, our old carpet rug is also in the basement, there’s a large box stowed on the corner where all of his- what he calls as- sentimental items where each of every item (small or large) holds a chunk of memories that makes him reminisce as he sees it. It’s funny because my dad is a raging hoarder, maybe that’s why in turn, I am his son, and is such a huge slob.

I loaded the laundry machine with mine and dad’s clothes. Surprising to say that a week worth of our clothes easily fit inside; well, provided that there’s only two of us living under the same roof. If laundering these clothes will take like 45 minutes, then what should I do for the remainder of the day?

The impatience of the slow passing of today made me feel the humid air in the basement even more.

My gaze went up to the brown sofa I’m just reminiscing. My dad sewed a thick pillow in place of the hole Tweek made so we can sit or lay there- Tweek better not jump on there again. The particular couch has been a part of many memories too; the late sleepover’s with the gang, sometimes with Tweek and Token but most of the time with just Craig alone, suffice to say that piece of furniture can be my own sentimental item. Perhaps I have to thank that couch for playing a big part in Craig and I’s friendship. Those days were really what makes us so close now.

And beside that is a coffee table in which on the top of it was…. a playboy magazine! My mind wondered for a second what it was doing laying on plain sight.

I remember when I was a perverted asshole back in elementary until middle school (actually until now, too). I’d leaf through those pages almost salivating on the almost buck-naked girls like I’m some deranged drug addict asking a blow for a coke.

I snatched the magazine and lay sideways to the brown couch, casually browsing through the pages to trigger childish memories I had in the past. I noticed that the girls in these issue differs from those I usually see when I was a kid- I must’ve borrowed this from Kenny (another sick bastard).

Maybe I was stoked a little too much because I can’t stop looking at the girls at their sexual alluring postures. Sweat began to trickle down from my head. Muscle memory then came into reflex, a finger flicked the page to 32 where my young sexual desires were truly awakened. It’s the image of a young model named Maria and is of like Asian Latina descent. She is wearing a very tight salmon pink lingerie evident with her protruding voluptuous tits, straddling the hell out of a chair, head hanging up and her mouth open with her eyes scrunched in a sexual yet, passionate seducing look. Fuck, what if I was the chair?

I imagined what she would sound like as I ferociously do her insides on that chair she is sitting on. She must be roaring her own moans, claws ripping on back as she rides me like the wild beast she is. 

I wasn't aware that I became naked on my lower half, instense with touching myself to the point of orgasm. As no one was around anyways, I moaned loudly as I ride the impending surge of pleasure. I was showered with satisfaction... literally as my come practically went all over the place.

Fuck, that felt so well. Even though I do this almost all the time, every session still felt so well. I know it's a bad hobby but if it makes me happy then why not do it on a daily basis?

I let out a shaky, labored breath, smile creeping on my face as I swam around the joyous sensation of this incredible journey.

The euphoria then came to a sudden crash. I felt self-aware again, aware of the ferocity of my mind and actions just earlier, behaving and acting like an untamed animal. And now with my come splattered across my clothed torso, some smeared on my cheeks, and some even blasted to the sofa, I then felt so disgusted with myself.

This is what we guys call, ‘post-nut clarity’.

I slipped out of my shirt and cleaned myself with it- it’s disgusting but what other choice do I have? I tried to clean the part of the sofa that I comed into but when I wiped it with my shirt, it left a blurry white stain on there. The couch is dark brown anyways, and of course no one would take time to inspect _that_!

I sat up on the couch, a sensation of weariness devouring me entirely. Hearing the sounds of the laundry machine reminded me that I’m alone in the house with nothing to do.

So I laid down again on the sofa, my torso naked, but rested my head on the other side because yuck! I figured I might as well sleep again to at least alleviate the exhaustion of my body.

I closed my eyes, letting the couch underneath swallow me whole into unconsciousness, allowing the whirring sound of the washing machine lull me into sleep.

Part of me still can’t believe that I got so fucking horny on Maria there. I didn’t know I was supposed to feel that way again after realizing that I’m gay. Shouldn’t homosexual people not act like the way I just did? Maybe I’m bi or bike-curious as they say in 4th grade. Or perhaps, as ridiculous as it sounds, I’m only gay for Craig.

Only homo for my best bro.

* * *

I burst in running inside the campus and its hallways, not minding the glaring, judging looks of the people who seemed holding grudge on me, but I didn’t care and just ran as fast as I can. Although I’m inside the school now, the freezing temperature still stabs the layers of my skin.

It’s gonna get me. It’s close. IT’S GONNA GET ME!

The thought of such monologue reminded me of Tweek that I almost laughed as I ran away for my life.

Speaking of Tweek…

Ha. This is not real. This is a dream.

Becoming lucid, and in now perfect control of myself in this dream, I thought to myself that I was so cool doing and reliving _Divergent_ action stuff. But it’s not that special, almost everyone can become lucid in their dream, though it requires practice and concentration. Well, side effect includes indefinite amounts of sleeping paralysis.

I stopped dead on my tracks and turned around. I closed my eyes and opened my arms for it, letting whatever was chasing me, devour me wholly. Though I was closing my eyes right there, the darkness that consumed me still differed than that of closing one’s eyes.

.

.

.

I woke up at the extreme depth of temperature inside the basement. Sleeping without a shirt really is a bad idea. Shivering, I grabbed my phone and ran up to the living and up to my room. Even my room is freezing! Perhaps, Dad really needed that coat.

I went inside the shower room and thanked God that it is surprisingly warm there. I opened my phone, somewhat astounded that it’s almost 4 in the noon, it looked like I slept the entire day. There are 2 unread messages in the notification bar. Probably Token, he’s the only one that texts me.

_Token Black_

_2:39PM_

_Stark’s Pond. 7:00PM. Don’t be late._

Whenever our group does a social gathering, it is always Token who calls the shots. It’d be a lie to say that I didn’t have doubts about Craig being the supposed leader of our group. But because of Token’s initiative and approachable character, I think we rather rename our group to _Token and Those Guys_... well that if you replace Jimmy with Tweek.

I was about to reply something in disagreement, then I remembered that there’s actually no school for tomorrow! The school’s celebrating… something, the important thing is that we have an extended weekend!

It’s unusual for people to camp on Stark’s Pond due to its big and untamed grasses and rumors of beasts roaming around. Fortunately, due to years of loitering there, we knew much better than to believe in urban legends, so we’re probably the only people who camp there at night.

I scrolled to the latest message.

_Dad (Roger Donovan)_

_3:03PM_

_Craig said something about you and your friends doing something for the night. I’m okay with it as long as you don’t get anywhere outside of south park._

Craig keeps the other tent bag (of course bought by Token) in his house for these occasions so that Token would not have to bring much stuff on the way there. Living beside him means that I should help carry stuff on the way there too.

Then I guess I have to face Craig, inevitably, hoping he wouldn’t mind what just happened last night. Although he seemed so cool about it last night. Perhaps he already had engraved the _nothing happened under that streetlight_ then.

I didn’t expect myself to depend so much on Craig this time around, once again, being the emotionally immature kid that I am. The memories of each bonding, resulting in just comforting me into stopping from hollering like a kid, relieved sighs escaping from his mouth, I’m so sick of it. Depending on others emotionally (especially on Craig) makes me feel so pathetic.

Remembering that I’m in the shower room, I undressed the remaining clothes I’m wearing and jumped into the hot waters of my shower, trying to let the warm liquid wash off the pain of worthlessness creeping up on my head again.

Maybe being already pathetic cancels out that feeling altogether.

* * *

Token’s probably gonna bring some pizza, Tweek’s bringing some thermos of coffee (not ideal for an outdoor sleepover), and Craig’s gonna bring some snacks and chips, and I don’t know what to bring there.

I looked at the groceries my dad bought in the morning hoping I could find something to bring.

Cup noodles? Bringing utensils there’s gonna suck.

Chips? Yeah, no originality over there.

How about calling a delivery for taco? No time.

My presence there should suffice though? No, you’re a fucking bummer to be with (as evident from last night).

So I decided to just grab chips and treats that’s enough for us, not minding I wouldn’t have something of me to bring that makes me unique and different from the group. I picked a handful but still left a generous amount of things for my dad to eat.

I stuffed those inside my large backpack, along with a pillow to sleep on because pillows are self-provided. After mentally checking if I forgot something to bring, I locked the door from the inside and went out of my house to the Tucker residence.

I steeled myself not to fluster from embarrassment when I see Craig again. I decided knocking on their door instead of ringing the doorbell as the Tucker’s and my dad probably is in the living room. I expected Thomas to open the door for me but Craig did instead. I was taken aback with his presence. For the second time around, I braced myself to act coolly in front of him.

“It’s still 6:15, Clyde. You excited or something?” he asked, though he looked like he was fully ready way before than I was. He’s clad in denim jeans and is already wearing his thick navy blue coat and his blue chullo hat.

Even after all that happened last night, he still managed to keep his coolness intact. I examined his physique and thought that his demeanor hasn’t changed at all; his stance stays composed, the resting-scowl face still remains unharmed. If he can effortlessly do that, then I guess two can play at that game.

After a brief moment of silence, he gestured for me to enter the house. I immediately see my dad and Craig’s parents hanging around in their living room watching some 80’s rom-com, drinking pale ales, and laughing together having a great time. I need not to bother them so I promptly headed upstairs to Craig’s room and felt heard his loud steps following me.

I am greeted with an earthy smell coming inside the large cage of his guinea pigs. It’s not a bothering smell for a bedroom, and my nose grew accustomed to the odor of his room due to years of bonding with him.

I sat on the edge of his bed and looked at him scuffling through his items on the corner of his room.

“Hanging out with you guys tires me out, honestly,” he says as he grabs and puts more stuff into his duffel bag. I mean, Craig’s Craig, he’s cool and everything but I know he needs some time for himself too. That’s the kind of introvert he is, well not that I’m much of an extrovert though.

“Yet, you still choose to hang out with us,” I positively replied.

“It’s out of pity.”

I blanked for a while from the nasty remark. “You know you can say no for once, right?” I said coolly.

“You know I can’t say no to you, right?” I swooned joyously inside my mind for the thought, my cheek started to get too warm for my liking, yet, my insecurity still got the better of me.

“Does that mean you pity me?” I asked, sounding like a little kid.

He zipped his duffel bag and stood up, looking at me. “I’m your best friend,” he firmly says. “Of course I’m entitled to worry about you,” he then lit a warm half-smirk on his face to me (his classic signature smile) and headed out of the room, leaving the door slightly open for me.

I openly gaped at the door, wondering how he can just say things like his unwavering (friendly) devotion to me while managing his complex and cool demeanor at the same time. If I were to reciprocate those words to him, I’ll just be a stuttering mess with these newfound feelings I have for him. Heh, I know what that means.

Never will he ever have a thing for me.

* * *

I fully anticipated the freezing temperatures outside but I didn’t expect it to be windy. The howling of the cold breeze is effortlessly heard throughout our steps approaching the meadows that surrounds Stark’s Pond. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with Craig again, but we walked there silently without any attempts of a conversation. It is not out of his discomfort towards me, nor his usual silent and cool personality, but with the thing he seems to be sullen about for some recent weeks. I decided not to pry on it and let him have it.

I’ll be patient.

To see that circular area where the patches of grass are short and tamed is the sign that we finally reached the spot of our usual camping place. The scattered mess of the rocks of our fire ring—because no one bothers to clean it—are indications that Token and Tweek are still on their ways.

We dropped our bags besides the big rocks intended to be our seats. Craig arranges the rocks in a circular pattern and helped me find tinder, kindling, and firewood for our campfire, though I doubt we’ll be having that as the winds are just too strong.

I heard two pairs of footsteps scrunching the tall grasses from behind. Knowing who they were, I decided to snidely greet on them with my back turned on them.

“You said, ‘don’t be late’ and yet, here you are, _late_.” I dramatically turned around smiling smugly at Token.

He looked briefly at his digital wristwatch. “6:43 before 7 still technically counts as early,” he said concisely.

“Lay off, Clyde. Your house is just near here.” Tweek shyly says, his blond locks sway wildly as strong gusts of wind blow at us once again.

Token and Craig promptly start setting up both tents while Tweek is trying to light the fire. I watch him twitch in frustration as his small fires get blown away the moment it starts to ignite a little.

Tweek screamed, “I can’t handle this anymore!” Laughing quietly, I went to Tweek to help him ease off a bit.

“You have any gas lighter there?” I asked, offering him suggestions.

“No, Clyde! Gas lighting is totally unsafe!” He said, eyes wide open in apprehension.

I held up my hands to calm him, taking my coat off of me. “Okay, let’s do some magic here.”

He once again lit up the already charred tinders from his failed attempts. It ignited a little, and when I heard the sound of the gust from afar, I covered the side of the growing fire from that direction and completely protected it from blowing it off again. The wind this time was strong though I thought my coat would fly off from my hands. The growing fire suddenly went weak, and Tweek following his instincts went from the other side of the fire ring and quickly blew gently on it in attempts of increasing the air levels for a hotter and brighter fire.

And as luck would have it, the fire spread onto the different woods and the light of fire grew faster, bringing immediate warmth to our bodies. Tweek clapped happily as he stared at the result of our sudden coordination.

I giddily offered him my raised hand, “Up here, Tweek.”

And we slapped each other’s hands like some dudes in a frat.

Teamwork, OP.

* * *

Kids these days cannot have the fun out with friends without the internet. But we are not those kids, and we are not kids anymore, either.

“And I swear, I see him eating a belgian waffle!” Token says jokingly, earning loud chuckles from us—well aside from Craig who laughs lightly like those stereotypical cool guys portrayed in TV.

I took another slice of pizza from the box splayed in front of us. Probably my 3rd or 4th slice but I swear, I’m not that fat anymore so it’s okay. I gazed at the sight of my friends having fun, clutching themselves with their arms to fight the cold winds that continued to strum onto us.

Craig picks at the spicy-flavored chips I brought. “You ever been to Belgium, Token?” he asked curiously.

Most conversations are led by Token and what fascinate us mostly are his adventures to other countries because unlike him, we can only afford trips to neighboring states- heck we can’t even make it down south for a warmer climate. We South Park kids are born here, raised here, and will probably die here without even experiencing anywhere that is remotely related to South Park.

“We went there just last year. Oh, you must try the beers in Leuven! No beer here can top those.” Token says, as he sips a drink from a Styrofoam coffee cup Tweek provided us earlier. He said it’s decaf which means it's a sleepover-friendly drink.

“ _Yeah_ , we’d try those if you once just let us go with you,” I said in a mocking tune.

“Uhm, my family’s not that rich.”

“It’s okay. Not that we’re a bunch of drinkers anyway,” said by innocent and pure Tweek. It's true. We go to parties our friends throw, we drink, but we never get drunk, only tipsy at best. Craig decided to pop in.

“They say Leuven also has the best cafes in the EU,”

“Really?!” Tweek shouted, eyes sparkling with amazement. “You should totally bring us there, Token!” We three laughed as Token palmed his forehead in irritation.

A strong gust of wind blew at us as we were in a laughing fit from Token’s flustered posture. The wind blew so hard that Craig had to take off his chullo hat and stuffed it within the short confines of his coat pocket, revealing once again the tousled locks of darkening beauty.

His raven hair really is a magnificent sight; a wonder to behold. Though I've seen it many times; when we got our heads checked for lice, when we shower after gym classes yet, I have but only just then realized on that rainy night how gorgeous actually his hair is—no. But how gorgeous _he_ actually is. The said owner looked at me with an affectionate smile, high with all of our laughing.

My heart melted at the spectacle.

* * *

Thankfully, Token suggested that I bunk with Tweek this time. I doubt I will last a night with Craig by my side, he’d see me dead from a heart attack the next morning.

The tents that our (very very) rich friend bought have this built-in self-inflatable sleeping pad, so we would not bother to have space-consuming sleeping bags, though we would have to share a single comforter, not that we really mind that. I wouldn’t need that though even with the cold weather tonight, Tweek’s body is so warm to touch probably from all the coffee he drinks.

As I straightly lay down on the sleeping pads, I lifted my phone above me to see the time, quite surprised that it’s already 3 in the morning. Tweek saw my surprised face on my phone.

“Such a fun night, isn’t it?” He brightly says. “One moment we’re talking about the Stoley and Stotch altercation, then we just bounced to the Biggle kid’s power!”

“Time flies quickly when you have fun.” I said sleepily, though Tweek looks still very awake at the moment. Caffeine addiction kids, not even once.

“Craig has actual powers too,” I added.

“The lasers, I know. But it’s not like he can do it anymore as much like in 5th grade.” Tweek replied. I smiled at the memory of young Craig accidentally burning his homework in frustration.

The blond boy finally lays down beside me, sidling up so our arms touch each other. My body was reminded again of how much warm his body is.

I closed my eyes, the weight of both lids preventing me from opening them again. The weight of my body multiplied too, feeling the sleep nearing close to me. That is until Tweek spoke.

“It’s not like we really faked our relationship back then.”

My mind jolted awake from the sudden confession, yet my eyes and body were still unresponsive to feeling awake.

“What?”

“We tried, you know. Finding that grand cordial sensation among ourselves.”

In years of my friendship with Craig, he wasn’t really fond of talking about his relationship with Tweek. No talks like, “He loves when I walk him in the park” something like that. Perhaps this is the reason, he didn’t earn the love he should feel in a relationship. I hummed at Tweek for him to continue.

“We tried everything. We hang in amusement parks, we date in Café Monet, we kiss,” my mind wandered to the thought of Craig kissing Tweek hard, I feel kind of aroused but much disgusted to myself for thinking of my friends doing that. “-and of course we don’t have sex! We’re kids back then.”

I laughed quietly beside him.

“We realized that we just can’t force something that’s not there. So we decided to break up. No hard feelings because our feelings were mutual. That’s the reason we’re still best friends and all after that.”

It’s hard to comprehend that Tweek can’t find himself loving Craig. He’s fucking pretty, kind, fun to hang out at times, and he really cares about his loved ones. I mean, what’s not to like? But I’m not Tweek, so I can’t just speak for himself.

Tweek continued narrating, thanking my mind he’s still fully awake so he can douse my near-sleep with his lilting voice.

“Maybe we’re just straight, or something. But do you know what justified me into breaking up with him?” He asked.

I hummed at him again.

“For all the time we’ve been together, I see something in him that screams incredible longing for someone. Someone who he truly… loves. At one point, I felt like whenever I’m with him, he imagines me as that person to compensate for the _yearning_ he endures.

“It’s so painful to see Craig like that, to see those eyes downcast in sorrow. I knew I had to sever our ties like that, because what he’s doing is not healthy at all. I had to stop him having this sense of false happiness he gets from seeing me as the person he actually has feelings for, but let him face the unlawful sadness of reality.

“If I didn’t do that any sooner, the inevitable break-up will come and we wouldn’t ever see the Craig we have today. That’s how bad he was, and _is_ still doing.”

I felt an unnerving cold over my body. I didn’t know what to feel after all of those Tweek just said. I’m Craig’s best friend but I didn’t know that what lies beyond his cool and stoic stature is a fragile and very sensitive person. I didn’t feel betrayed that he couldn’t talk to me about this- heck this is too personal to be even sharing anyway. For how he managed to keep all of those heart wrenching feelings over the years of our friendship is beyond me. He must have felt lonely, the pain must have really hurt.

I realized I was now fully awake and gaping openly at the ceiling of the tent.

“Craig’s so lucky to have you,” I said, wistfully. I might have meant the time when Craig _had_ him and being kind of jealous about it, but in reality it’s because

“You’re such a good friend to him,” I added.

“Craig is just as lucky to have you, too.”

Perhaps making him happy when we’re together is a happy distraction from the constant hurt he had been dealing for a long time. Even if what I’m doing for him is actually little, I’m glad I can offer something for his respite. There’s this side of that me feels extreme guilt for not making him so much happy; I feel like I’m not enough and will never be enough for him, I’m his best friend and I can only do so much, I care about him and look how he is faring, but it will never be enough. These feelings, _my_ feelings for him, are so selfish, focusing my entire pining for him instead of caring about what he feels or whatnot.

Maybe this whole thing is just a giant mistake.

He already loves someone and that someone is not me. Yet, my naïve ideals still say he would tolerate my inconspicuous pining (flirting) towards him. Maybe I’ll just lay myself down easily on him. I couldn’t pile more on him, he has enough on his plate.

I gently closed my eyes again trying to let Tweek’s lukewarm body douse me into sleep. Part of me wildly wonders how it could have been if I was the receiving end of Craig’s love.

Fuck, I’d do everything for him, I’d give myself wholly for him. I would top the hypothetical love he’d be giving me. I would make him happy, I would make him feel enough, feel safe, and feel loved.

But to imagine these things doesn’t make the circumstances be truer in reality.

Oh, how I wish it is me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually find writing so fun! I may be producing low-quality fics, but it really makes me happy :)
> 
> Do my 5,000 words for a chapter feels unnerving? Too long, or something? I personally liked reading long chapters so the feeling I'll get will suffice until the next update of chapter. Please comment your thoughts too!
> 
> I actually think that the basement scene is relevant to Clyde's character but I'm sorry, I really didn't intend the scene to be that graphic. I might edit it out if the intrinsic shame is just too much.


	3. Attiquette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t actually feel inspired to update because I know no one reads anyway. Kind of contradicts the whole _immortalize this shit of a fic I imagined_ idea I had.
> 
> By the way, I read aesop_rock’s [Clyde Gets Touchy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903479/chapters/57472372) because I see it a lot and I never had the time to read it. Well, it’s good. Actually, really good. An easy 5/7 kind of thing. If you like Craig/Clyde fics, you should definitely turn onto that.

The memory of that scene where I asked my dad why he works all the time flashed at me once again.

I remember my 11 year-old self asking him,  _ “Can’t you have a day off sometimes, dad?” _

He then lights a half-smile. _ “I’m sorry, Clyde. Without your mom, I can only support us two by working all day, all week.” _ He said those words with a smile on his face, but I can still see the masked guilt and sadness from his fake façade. I killed my mom, now I’m trying to kill my dad, too.

So when Craig informed me that my dad left our home key in theirs to report back to his job, I felt myself glower at everything again. I thought I’d had the day with seeing my dad feel relaxed for a while, soothed for just five seconds, and fucking free from the responsibility of killing himself for me, just for once.

I pulled hard at the connected poles as I disassembled the tent Tweek and I slept in; the cloth ceiling of the tent almost got torn off.

“Take it easy, Clyde.” Token says. But I pay him no attention.

“Whoa. I didn’t know there were fishes in these waters!” Tweek chirped happily… and loud. Why the fuck is everyone so fucking noisy today?

When everyone decided to shut up for once, I observed that there are no blaring car sounds, no obnoxious people babbling, just birds chirping, some little animals chattering, and light breeze passing making the trees and grasses shake and produce that soothing,  _ flaky  _ natural sound. It should’ve given a warm pleasant feeling but it just adds intensity to this pressure I'm experiencing.

The roads became too bright for my liking with the clumpy slushed snow slightly reflecting the sun’s radiant streaking. The weather could have been hot, only if the late October cold isn’t just too dominating.

I felt myself cool off once we started the walk to our homes, not aware that I was actually feeling so angry. But I’m not angry at my dad working, or at Token taking care of his things, or at Tweek being unusually chirpy, but at myself. The rage though is now turning into that comfortable and familiar sadness.

“We’ll take this road now,” Token notifies, waving his hand for goodbye with Tweek looking guilty that he can’t wave too because both of his hands are occupied.

Craig made sure both of them are out of earshot before saying, “We’ve been through this, Clyde.”

“Through  _ what _ ?” I asked, irritated and it seems the pent-up anger is coming back and I can’t control it enough to not deflect it on Craig. He sighed, like he is so fed up with my repetitive shit.

“ _ You _ . Yourself,” he said in a flat tone, indication that he really was fucking fed up of my shit. But his eyes are somewhat tinged with concern.

“You don’t have to worry. I’d be fine come noon.” And I really don’t want him to waste his time consoling and making me feel better because I know I’m a fucking lost cause.

So, yeah, it’s a good thing I lied to my dad before 6th grade that I don’t need the shrink anymore to stop me from hating myself so he can instead save that money for himself. It’s a good thing that I lie at those times by smiling at everyone to let them think I’m okay because I don’t need anyone to pity me and feel sorry for me. All of that because I know I’m beyond anyone’s help. I don’t want them to pour any more of their resources to a hopeless, bottomless pit that is my fucking emotional wreckage with the wishes to fill it up with their sickening joy and laughter.

My skin felt colder and my chest throbbed with the poignant reminder that my life will always be like this, revolving around self-pity and constant reminder that I'll forever be this fucking sore loser.

_ When did I ever become this pathetic? _

I suddenly choked out a sob that I even tried to cover with both of my hands in hopes of hiding it from Craig. But there’s no hiding anything from Craig. He looked at me with his brows furrowed in distress and that’s all it took for my feelings to pour down; the anger, the resentment, the regret, and guilt in the form of overflowing liquid droplets.

I wailed loudly in sadness as I covered my eyes in shame, wiping the excessive amount of tears in my face with the already drenched collar of my coat. Craig extended an arm over me, pulling me into his side and guided my walking, leading me heaven knows where. The warmth of his body tries to comfort me but it’s not enough to scald this gnawing cold inside me.

“Yeah. Craig,” I said between strong shaking sobs and loud snivels, “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“No one ever thinks like that to you.” He said in a stoic manner and it sounded like he tries to be the strong pillar to hold on to.

I shook my head, thinking completely out of reason and logic, “But I know you  _ dooooo… _ ” Then I continued the syllable with a childish hollering. I wish I could stop this but I fucking can’t, now I’m embarrassing the fuck out of Craig to anyone on the streets.

My left arm remained in covering my eyes and I felt my feet walk up a flight of stairs as a hand holding my right one guided me upwards and I willingly complied.

I hear a door creaking as it opens, I was greeted with the familiar earthy scent and before I know it, I am now lying in Craig’s bed, my body splayed like a drunkard passing out on the roads. Craig covered me in his blanket, and by then, my blasting hollering was reduced to whimpering and quiet sniffling with less tears attempting to wet his tidy blanket.

Finally opening my eyes, I’ve come to see that everything is blurry. Press your hands/arms to your eyes and you’d totally get this result.

“You’d be fine come noon.” His gentle and lilting voice reassured me, and I can’t believe it came from Craig. But these mundane false comforts—I need not to hear it anymore.  _ I’d be fine come noon _ ; it sounded like I was having an angsty episode and it’ll surely pass as if what I’m feeling is just nothing and will just pass sometime sooner. I pushed the offending thought away and instead, just doubted his statement.

“Perhaps.” I said wearily.

He knelt down the carpeted floor beside the bed and firmly planted his earnest gaze unto my eyes. “No, Clyde. I promise you’ll feel better.”

Surrendering to his insistent comforting, I closed my eyes, its heavy eyelids celebrating in the comfort of rest. The chasing of unconsciousness was quick as it always do after I bawl my eyes out. Is this why Craig led me to his bed? I didn’t know that he knew that. It actually felt wonderful that someone other than my dad knew things about me, even the little things.

The thought alone was that of a happy and warm one. It felt so foreign after that influx of hatred just earlier.

Just as I was seconds away from sleep. I felt a cozy, mellow stroke of a hand caressing and raking through my hair. I didn’t know if I did, but I felt like my lips instinctively arced into a smile.

* * *

Although my eyelids are heavy and my eyes feel sore, I really did feel better than before! Craig was right… or at least I was right—I’m the first to say I’d be better come noon. How did I even know it was already noon? The sky through the windows.

The guilt that I just had, though little, still pricks onto my chest. I could really overreact to the littlest of things. My friends know that but as if it makes my emotional turbulent state more or less embarrassing.

But I guess feeling better came off with a price. I looked at the sight of Craig uncomfortably sleeping sideward on the carpeted floor of his room with his arm as his pillow. Even sleeping, he still wears that darn hat. I moved myself to sit beside his position.

Softly nudging his arm, I sighed loudly, “The bed is free now. And I am really sorry.” Because I was such an inconvenience earlier this morning. But then again, when did I not become an inconvenience?

He stirred a little bit until he opened his eyes, rapidly blinking. He quickly seated himself in front of me. “It’s fine. I slept on the couch and moved here just now,” he says. He sounded like he’s lying but I don’t think Craig ever lies about little things. So I dropped it.

“Not that. I mean-“

“Clyde.” But instead of scolding me, he just plainly smiled at me. I noticed how his eyes glisten with tears from just waking up and how it augments his features as he smiles at me. I expected butterflies in my stomach and wild blushing to my cheeks but it did not happen. But why?

My feelings for Craig…

That’s  _ it _ ? Gone? Just like that?

I guess these feelings are not legit–just a fluke. And I conclude that this is for the best. With what Tweek just said, I never had a chance with him; I’ll just hurt myself even more. Besides, our friendship is what is more important. Maybe I just had to cry those feelings out just to get away from that shipwreck about to happen.

I smiled at the thought.

Craig stood up quickly, “Fuck!” He groaned at much pain as his back suddenly made a cracked sound. That must mean he lied about that couch thing and he really did sleep on the floor of his room. Beside me. Overlooking at me… as if he’s looking after me.

He lent a hand in front of me to help me stand up.

I gaped at his hand and back at him and see that he still wears that same smile from earlier. And just like that, my mind went haywire and I feel my cheeks tint with red.

“I-I uh.. I-”  _ I can do it myself. _ But as I was unable to just say that, I forced myself to stand up quickly and laughed awkwardly at the situation. My eyes went in random directions and my chest was throbbing in anxiety as I continued the unsettling laugh, nervously fumbling my fingers and now Craig is giving me a confused stare.

I guess I just won’t get over Craig that easily.

* * *

“Your dad actually wants you to stay here for a while before he gets home.” Craig’s mom says as she places a bowl in front of every seat on the dining table.

“Well, my dad will not be home until 11 or 12 in the midnight.” I replied, getting kind of excited at what Craig’s mom cooked for their dinner tonight. Yeah, I’m a freeloader for the night.

Craig’s sister, Tricia, went down the stairs and comfortably seated herself beside me.

“Hey, Clyde.” She greets. I lifted my chin up to her and she smiles in return—oh fuck, that must’ve looked cool.

“You looked like a tryhard.” Craig says as if he can read my mind.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, Craig, shut up!” Tricia backed me up. Craig then lifted the bird on Tricia, Tricia counters with two; one to Craig and one to her mother approaching us. Laura placed a bowl of cloudy soup and quickly lifted up both hands flipping Tricia and one seemed to point at me.

Feeling lost of what to do, I awkwardly lifted the finger to the air.

And it caused them to guffaw at me. I slammed my hand to my lap and hung my head in shame. So stupid. So, so stupid! Even with years of being with the Tucker’s, I can’t still understand the customs of lifting the finger with each other.

Craig’s mom comfortably seated herself in one of the chairs and started serving ourselves a soup she made. I noticed that Thomas is not here.

“Aren’t we waiting for Mr. Tucker?” I asked her.

“He went with your dad, dude.” Craig replied instead.

I looked at the bowl in front and saw that the soup actually has many ingredients in it. It has tomatoes, some pork, and tender green shoot vegetables I don’t recognize, and a white solid I also don’t recognize, and there’s another thin white there that I also (again) don’t recognize.

“Mrs. Tucker,” I speak slowly, I may offend her for the following words, “ _ What _ is this soup?” But she heartily laughed.

“I actually don’t know. My friend at work brought a bowl in her shift and I thought it tasted good.”

“I would’ve guessed mysterious soup,” Tricia says and Craig hummed, pointing a finger on her as an agreement. If Tweek was here, he won’t eat this without overthinking if it was poisonous at first.

I took a spoonful of the broth and tucked it in my mouth. The taste would’ve been wonderful  _ if it wasn’t just too sour! _ I choked up a cough from my throat due to excessive sourness of the soup.

“Oh,” Laura says with a hint of dismay, “That bad?”

“No. It’s just-“ I blanked for a second. “Taste it for yourselves first.” I looked at Craig and Tricia.

Challenge accepted it seems as they both took a sip of the soup in unison. Tricia had the same reaction as me with the coughing but with Craig, he squeezed his eyes tightly and his body visibly shook. Tricia started laughing and Laura and I followed suit, earning a slightly flushed Craig flipping the bird to the both of them and receiving another as a reply. I know better than to jump in those again. I stole another moment to look at Craig again and now I’m proud to say that pissed-off Craig really looks cute.

I really tried to consume all the contents in the bowl. It was delicious, I tell you, but the broth was just too sour. Craig’s mom boiled some tamarinds to sour up the soup and maybe that’s the mistake she’d made, otherwise it would’ve been such a wonderful dish. In the end, all our bowls were left nothing but the broth.

* * *

It’s now 7 in the evening, and since I don’t want to overstay my welcome in their house, I offered myself out. But Craig insisted on letting me stay for a while and I was too enticed to the idea of hanging out alone with Craig for me to say no.

I’m really beginning to be such a sucker for Craig.

“But why in the attic?” I asked him.

Instead of answering, he jumped high into the ceiling of their second floor and pulled the stairs into their attic. I would’ve reached that too if I were just as tall as him. But then again, we’re almost just the same height. He went up the stairs and I followed him. He pulled the ladder in and closed the door shut.

“But why in the attic?” I asked him again.

And instead of answering me, he just made a beeline towards the large (only) window in the attic and gestured to me to come too. I caught him smiling before opening it and letting the cold breeze of late-October dominate our almost kneeling—because we’re too tall to stand in the attic— statures. I promptly shivered at the sudden cold.

“I assumed there’d be stars in the sky but it’s just cloudy.” He finally speaks.

“You want us stargazing together, Craig? You’re so gay.” I laughed at the irony of my own joke, knowing the gayest person in the attic is actually me. I sat down on the floor and leaned on the wall beside the sill of the window.

“Well, yeah. We used to do this back then.” He sat down on the floor in front of me.

“Really? How come I don’t remember?” And I could’ve swear I see his face etched with hurt and I feel guilty that I caused that.

Not answering the question again, he grabs something behind his back; it’s a bluetooth speaker device. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started connecting it to the speaker. That prompted me to ask him to connect mine—my taste in music is probably better than his.

“But it better not be loud. It’s already nighttime.” He says and that really cancels out most of my playlists. Maybe I still had those relaxing jazz or whatever he wants.

The song started to play; a single electric guitar introductory:  _ Three years of something I call love… _

“It’s hella cheesy, Clyde.” To be honest, it really hurts when someone says your taste in music is shit, and the embarrassment is at an all time high as it came from Craig. Fortunately, he let it end at peace and disconnected my phone to his speaker—oh crap, that hurts. Never gonna play that song again.

His song started to play; an acoustic guitar introductory this time. The singer sounded like a drunk teen serenading to someone, and I still feel bitter from earlier. Then the chorus came: 

_ Under the white light, under the yellow moon. _

As much as it hurts to say, this song is definitely better and fits the relaxing, lazy mood inside here in the dark attic.

_ Listen to my scream to the yellow moon. _

The lyrics made me look behind me, beyond the window and cringing at the absence of moon in the night skies. The dumb act made Craig chuckle.

The floor is dusty and clearly unclean but I still lay sideward on the floor, feeling a bit sleepy again even though I just slept the entire day. So we actually used to do this alone in their attic and I don’t even remember those days at all. I can’t believe that I used to be so emotionally disconnected to Craig back then, but I was still just a dumb kid back then, possessing platonic feelings. I’m pretty sure he feels the same way back then and until now.

Doing this then from such a long time ago, and now doing this again finally.

Reminiscing the nostalgia of youth, part of me still can’t believe that we have come a long way in our lives. We’re 17 year olds now and a year later or so, we’d inevitably part ways to college and probably forget each other; forget the time spent together, then make new friends there, and replace the good memories with new ones. It’s so sad to think that that will happen to us friends. Stan, Bebe, Token, Tweek,  _ Craig _ .

Craig…

To stop myself from crying again, I initiated a conversation with Craig. His gentle voice alone is enough to give solace to my anxious bearings. I kind of realize just now that it is always Craig that bears with me every time I have an episode of my emotional tantrums. I'm kind of realizing just now that he was actually too kind to me over the years of our friendship. How could I be so blind? How could I be so unappreciative? If so, I wish this stays forever.

“I don’t want to grow up anymore.” The music slowly faded and Craig turned the speaker off for us to hear each other clearly. It added a serious tone in the air.

“Nobody wants to grow up, ever.” He said in a flat tone.

“I wish time could stop and just be like this.”  _ Just like this with you, alone, free of worry, happy. _

We both blanked in silence for a while, staring at each other, maybe imagining the time actually stopping for the both of us.

.

.

.

.

“I can’t picture myself being a grownup.”

“But time is an unstoppable force,” he trails for a second, “So you’d have no choice but to decide what to do by then and not get stuck in the past.”

“I think I’d want to be a dad. Whatever job is okay as long as I get to be with my loving kids,” and it sounds cheesy but as long as I can remember, that’s what my life goal has been, well now, maybe minus the wife. “Maybe I want to be a teacher at an elementary level. I liked hanging out with children and teaching them stuff. Maybe it’s because there’s a time I've wanted to be a brother of someone but fate never wanted me to become one.

“But I guess it’s fine though. With my immature and childish behavior, and constant emotional disaster, my little sister or brother would be for an eternal torture.”

“I’m up to be your little brother.” Craig warmly says.

“But I’d rather have you as my friend, just like what we are now.” I wetly smiled at him, tears pricking at the edge of my eyes. Though I kind of wanted more out of this friendship we have, being just friends with him can be so much enough for me. I’ll willfully throw these selfish thoughts and desires away just to prolong this bond we have. I’m grateful for what we have now and I’d rather not ask for more.

Craig replied with a smile but I see within his eyes that he is thoroughly… uneased? “You’d be a good kid teacher, Clyde,” he says, trying to change the subject. For why he was bothered by what I just said is just beyond me. I decided to drop the subject, but I replied quizzically in return.

“Yeah, and who knows? Maybe I’ll get to teach your kids when they get into elem.” Now, whatever he replies, it will imply whether he’d want a wife and kids in his life. I kind of regretted that I still wanted him to be a little gay so I’d know whether I have a little chance with him or something. But the words with vile intentions are already out, might as well get the best of it.

“About that… I don’t think I can’t raise a kid.” The domesticated husband type does not really suit his personality. 

“Why? I bet they’d love a strong and-… stoic father.” I almost said handsome, fuck!

“I’m adopted.” My eyes opened widely and my brows instinctively furrow in concern. I ought to ask him why being adopted has something to do with raising children but there is another important thing to be discussed.

“You are? Really?” I mentally chastised myself for the lack of words.

“I didn’t know specifically,” he then took off his hat, revealing once again the beauty of his jet-black hair. “No orange-haired male and blonde female can ever have a kid with such dark hair.”

“Have you tried talking to them about this?”

“I tried but I couldn’t.” He dreads knowing the truth but I know he wanted it just as bad.

“Steel your will,” I say, unknowing where this speech will lead to. “It’s better to go for it or you’ll end up regretting later in life.” And I ended it with a stereotypical cheesy quote. Way to go, me.

“But no matter what happens,” I added. “You’ll still be Craig Tucker. Thomas and Laura’s son, Tricia’s brother, and Clyde’s best friend.” I sat up properly, I slipped a hand and gave a slight grip on his knee. I gazed at him, giving him the best reassuring smile I can offer.

“We believe in you. We love you so  _ much _ .” Because even though I don’t know what it feels to suddenly realize you’re adopted, I assumed it would have been devastating because it implicitly meant your biological parents abandoned you, alone and unloved.

He took my hand with his two hands and firmly clutched it. He was shaking, trembling from the teeming emotions inside of him. Seconds later I saw his lips quiver and wobble, and that’s when I pulled him intuitively into a coddling embrace. He didn’t cry, no, but I sensed that he did ache for this touch of encouragement that he truly needs.

“Clyde. I.. I-“ He sounded clearly at loss with words.

“I know,” I said softly, because deep in my mind, I already know what he’s trying to say. It makes me feel proud that I came to know so much of him for the years we’ve been in this friendship.

_ “Craig is just as lucky to have you, too.” _

Perhaps, so. However, with all the events that occurred today; him comforting me in the streets, him sleeping on the floor for me, eating together that sour soup, and now this feeling of love he gives me? With the sudden realization of his unwavering care for me, I’ll never consider him lucky to have me.

Because my life will never be what it is today if it weren’t for him. I might have been the luckiest boy because of him. That is how I was so lucky—no,  _ blessed _ , to have him in my life.

I can never give anything in return for all the good things he has done to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapters are definitely an overkill especially when the narratives are too annoying, repetitive, and boring. Sorry.
> 
> I think I'd remove a huge chunk in the first chapter. Everything felt wrong there and it really turns me off.


	4. Unfairly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dec. 9, 2020: Didn't know google docs had a way to correct your grammar so yeah, I've been doing some editing with all the chapters. Skimming through the chapters though made me realize how shitty the story becomes as it progresses through. I'm so fucking sorry.

The weekend felt long since there was no school on Monday. What made it long is in just those three days, several major events have happened. The rain, the dinner with my dad, the camping, the hollering on the streets, the soup, the attic. It seems like those days were straight out from a teenage Netflix series where every day has plot-changing events.

We’re back to school now, today, Tuesday morning. Enduring the tedious, dull activities will feel incredibly long, but will be just as forgettable and before you know it, it’s already the fall break.

I entered the classroom and the atmosphere really felt odd, it’s like so foreign after all the days I’ve been not in school. As I sat on the edge of the middle row, I felt like going home already.

Most of the seats are still vacant. It’s 7:42 in the morning and dozens of students will probably just flock in three minutes before the class starts. Craig is one of those buzzer beater students and since I make sure I’m early to class, we don’t usually get to walk to school together. And everyone sure is pissed off that the school bus wasn’t working for years now.

I made sure my phone’s battery is full because our History presentation is in it. Tweek actually has one on his phone too, but he insisted on putting it on all of our phones.

Cluster of students came pouring in and started occupying every seat available. In elementary, it really was nice to know each and every one of the students inside the classroom. You’d know who to befriend, who you would stay away from, and who you want to occasionally hang out. It’s impossible now to do that, the only people I do know from this class besides from the original batch in here—we call ourselves that because we’re the cool kids— is Jude, who I don't even get along with!

Mr. Mayward welcomes himself in the room. For a foreign language teacher, he really looked like someone from a foreign country—like in the EU or elsewhere.

I chose this subject because I thought I’d learn the Dutch language which my mother is very fluent since she spent her childhood growing up there. But Dutch is not available in this school, German also is not available. There’s Spanish but you can learn from Cartman instead—most words he knows are mostly racially offending but you’d learn nonetheless.

So I chose Japanese, maybe because I’d get to learn the language of anime and become an anime tiddie expert myself(like fucking Token himself), but mostly because some kind of knowledge on another knowledge seemed cool. 

The teacher began to speak, “Fall break is soon, and I assume some of you at least learned something from here.” He gave a challenging smirk to all of us then continued, “So we’ll do an oral recitation for today.” The whole class groaned in disappointment.

“I’ve been teaching twice a week to your class, and it’s been like almost two months since then, so I guess all of you can do it now. Just do greetings or tell us about yourself, or anything at all, actually. A sentence is fine for now,” Mr. Mayward kindly says. Though a bit strict, he really is a kind teacher.

Although he was speaking in a soft voice, my heartbeat’s pace went faster. Oral recitation usually comes from alphabetical order. I’m a boy and my last name is Donavan, it’s a D! I might be called first!

“If I hear any words like,  _ yamete, oppai, ochinchin, niisan _ or any lewd Japanese terms, I’d give an automatic F.” Everyone cackled from the joke, almost everyone must know these words and where they most came from.

“First one, Ayano.” I let out a loud satisfied sigh but the dread is still there, after him, I’d be next.

The Ayano boy went in front of the class. He has short bowl-cut black hair with a very white complexion of skin, his eyes are a bit slanted and I think his name implies that he’s Japanese too. Jackpot! I’m definitely gonna copy what he’ll say.

Ayano timidly stared at our front, his legs started to shake. “You can start now, Mr. Ayano,” the teacher says softly. The Asian boy still continued staring at us, the tension around him grows every second and he looked like he’s gonna walk out of the room at any time.

“ _ W-wattasi.. name ga… _ ” I thought that  _ watashi _ is for girls? That’s when I realized he sucked. I assumed he’d be good at it since he was of Japanese descent, but that is actually why he is here, because he doesn’t know a thing for some reasons.

“ _ -Ayano.. deyo. _ ” After finishing that broken and intangible sentence, he hurried back to his seat in the front. That means I’m next now. Oh no. I’m sure I’ll get an F now.

“You’re up next… Mr. Bennett.” I swiped a bead of sweat on my forehead.

As he walked up to in front, half of the people in the class cheered and the boy smiled at them. This one might be one of the cool and famous kids in the school and he definitely looks like it.

He hangs his head down a little and tries to look shy and all. He turned a bit sideways and made both of his index fingers collide at the point like the timid characters in an anime film.

He started speaking in a light, effeminate voice, “ _ A-eh… Etooo.. Sono..” _ The girls at my back started snickering until Bennett rapidly shouted, “ _ Otoko ga saisho de jikoshōkai shita hō ga ī no yo BAKA! _ ” And the whole class laughed loudly at the portrayal of a stereotyped  _ tsundere _ anime girl. Even the teacher was laughing out loudly and the classroom was filled with cheering and applause. What a cool and funny guy. Definitely an A+.

.

.

“Donovan.” Oh fuck me, I can’t wait for the day to be over.

I sidled myself up in the front, partly leaning on the whiteboard. I tried remembering what Bennett said a while ago but it was so fast I didn’t catch a single word from it.

So rather than to be that timid almost-gonna-crap-my-pants Ayano guy, I’ll just speak whatever comes to mind even if it embarrasses the hell out of me.

“ _ Kono shoujo no namae ga kuraido to mōshimashita, _ ” I spoke in a plain manner and the accent must have butchered the whole sentence. I think it means ‘This boy’s name is Clyde’ and I think that with all the anime I have watched—because Token influenced us with his waifu addiction—the sentence must have sounded fine. The people seemed okay with most just being quiet (maybe they didn’t understand a word I said) but the Bennett guy among the whole class looked like he was stifling a laugh.

“Okay, okay. That’s good,” the teacher says, and he gestured to me to come to his desk. Did I say something wrong?

He raised a palm beside my ear and whispered, “ _ Shoujo  _ means girl, Mr. Donovan.”

* * *

I got a B+. Not a bad grade considering I flopped that  _ shoujo _ / _ shounen _ word. It’s fine though, he promised on his first day that there’ll be only two oral recites for the whole year. Some moments later after my turn, Stan was called in front and vomited his breakfast from the nerves. He laughed, we all laughed, he got a B-, and the day seemed to start pretty smooth.

I scuffled a things out of my locker, trying to replace textbooks and papers for the Math class.

“What did the teacher say to you?” Stan asked me as I close my own locker. Since our lockers are beside each other, he calls me his own ‘locker-mate’. Stan is actually a cool dude, so we became instant friends. Though we’re friends from back then, this time we got kind of close so one couldn’t say we’re just fair-weather friends.

“He said I screwed a word in my sentence,” I answered.

“Really?” His voice loud in surprise. “You sounded cool back there, I thought you’d get an A there.”

“Well, I didn’t. You would though only if you didn’t… you know.” Stan laughed.

“At least I played it cool and didn’t look like I pissed my pants like that Jap dude.” Though it was bad and morally condescending, we laughed loudly from that.

We walked together to the math class, this is where most of the original batch flock together, and so our gang, but the teacher made an awful seat plan so we wouldn’t be at all-time rowdy. Luckily, I got assigned to sit beside Token.

It sounded awfully spoony, but I really felt excited to see Craig again. I recalled the events last night; how he looked so happy as I hugged him, and how happy I was when I felt that he once actually needed me. I feel myself almost jumping on the seat, giddy to meet him again.

It’s not like we did that out of a romantic gesture but the memories of his touch makes me inwardly swoon.

“Morning, Token,” I greeted him as soon as I saw him entering the class however, I figured there’s something wrong—he didn’t greet back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when he had completely sat beside me.

“Tweek said Craig’s skipped the first shift.” He may sometimes look like it, but he never skips class, or even a day in class.

“Maybe he’s sick?”

“It’s Craig, Clyde. He doesn’t get sick.”

“He must have woken up late,” Tweek said, suddenly appearing from our backs—his seat is slightly just behind ours. Craig’s a buzzer beater, but he never was late to any kind of gatherings. It’s just a little thing you know, that Craig didn’t show up in the first shift. We know better though, there really must be wrong with Craig.

So just like I expected, Craig didn’t show up before the teacher came in.

The class started and passed by in a blur, and when my attention went back to the teacher, I immediately noticed the many scribbles in the board. It’s just another variation of Pythagorean theorem-thingy so I guess it’d be easy even if I didn’t listen. The teacher still went on explaining the solution on her given equation.

Then Craig came in unexpectedly inside the classroom.

I openly gaped at shock but not with his sudden entrance, but with his appalling appearance; there are large darkening bags under his eyes; his skin looked unhealthily pale, and his hair…

The excess edges that were supposed to tuck out—it was noticeably  _ cut _ . He now looked again like he was back in elementary, no hair at sight over his chullo hat. I know why he cut it though. It means that whatever I just did last night to him was shit and it didn’t stop him from feeling miserable.

He went past the teacher and slumped on the vacant armchair in the front. The chair creaked loudly making all eyes in the room center solely on him.

“At least someone showed up in class,” Ms. Nelson says with an irate tone. She closed the textbook on her arms and slammed it hard to the teacher’s desk. She glared intensely at Craig. This gesture should intimidate most students but Craig is not one of those students, and now he glares at her with the same intensity.

“I suppose your parents taught you manners but I can’t see it in you just _ one _ bit,” She said in an obnoxious snarky manner.

Craig! Please don’t be stubborn and just say sorry! My mental pleadings went unheard. I saw his arm twitch and fear started to grow inside me. I utterly know where this will lead to.

It happened. He gave the teacher the finger. And not just that.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he spat angrily, his brows scrunched in indignation.

The teacher seemed to have lost it now too, she looked entirely livid. She pointed to the door, “Fucking out! NOW!” It was unprofessional of her to swear in the campus but it’s not as if his student is giving her a reason not to. Craig slammed his fist to the chair before rapidly standing up that the chair screeched loudly as it scratched the surface of the floor. He walked out of the room with a middle finger up high like a flag-raised salute.

The room was filled with painful silence.

My chest clenched tightly in pain and I realized I was holding my breath the whole time. And not only me, everyone has their shoulders rigid in apprehension of what was happening and what is to happen next.

I promptly looked at Token and Tweek and just as I thought, we had the same expressions on our faces. I have to get to Craig, but Token shook his head no _. _ But I just have to. 

I stood up and every eyes refocused on me, I was nervous, frightened, maybe she’d send me to the principal’s after this too. “I-I.. uh…” I sputtered, not knowing an excuse to get out. “Bathroom-!” I walked away without her approving of it.

Craig was reaching the end of the hallway so I ran to him. “Craig!” I exclaimed, but he didn’t stop his walking. I noticed his gait was unbalanced as if he was dizzy or slightly drunk.

“What the hell dude! What’s wrong?” I asked incredulously, my pace getting faster as he tries to get away from me. Now that I mentioned it, his clothing reeked the awful stench of alcohol.

“Have you been drinking?” The trepidation caused by ignoring my questions makes my body feel cold. “Answer me, Craig.  _ Please _ ,” I pleaded and I saw his shoulders tense but I still can’t manage to stop him from walking. So I grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn onto me. That made him stop walking but he quickly swayed my hand so hard that it almost hit the lockers and I saw his face seething in an unadulterated rage—but he seemed like he was still holding it back. 

“You can tell me.” My voice was shaking and yet I smiled, feeling desperate in the chance of alleviating his distress. He was breathing loudly in anger and looked seconds away from bursting his wrath unto me but I kept myself from getting scared. This is Craig, he will never hurt me.

“ _ Just _ go away,” He spoke, quietly.

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Why do you care so much,” He said in a monotonous tone, not sounding like a question but a statement.

“Because I’m your friend. Your  _ best _ friend. Right?” I gently said but my voice still shook and my breathing became noticeably quicker. My words made me remember a similar scene:

_ “I’m your best friend. Of course I’m entitled to worry about you.”  _ Those were Craig’s words. These made me feel determined to step up for him even more.

Yet, the whole gesture seemed to piss Craig off. He tries to get away from me again. I put a hand on his shoulder as an attempt to calm him once more but he threw my arm off and this time it hit hard on the lockers. I yelped at the sudden pain and stumbled back, can’t help myself but to feel frightened at his ferocious glare.

He looked worried for a second until he swayed the emotion completely, “ _ Just _ fuck off, Clyde.”

I still saw through him somehow. Beyond those eyes, different emotions are conflicting with one another. There’s a war inside Craig’s head and he is sorely losing the battle… and I can’t even help him just a little.

Token’s right. I shouldn’t have gone to him. I’m his friend and I can’t do jackshit to help him.

He finally storms off and I didn’t attempt to reach him once more. Maybe that’s the way it should be, make him find solace from something, from some _ one _ that isn’t fucking me. He’s there when I always need him and I can’t offer myself to help him in return. Because I’m Clyde, and I’m useless, and I can’t do anything right even when I fucking try.

But I really thought I did everything right. That night, I saw him smile, I felt his arms shake in fulfillment, he thanked me, and he  _ needed _ me. Then to see him like what he is right now, it just felt ridiculously unfair.

* * *

“Maybe he needs some space,” Token says. After that whole dilemma with Craig, I found myself at the canteen stuffing absurd amounts of food in my face. I didn’t have the audacity to come back to class else the teacher be screaming “Fucking out!” to me too. It’s start of lunch when Tweek and Token found me physically abusing myself… with food lol. But I’m not even half finished devouring this banquet I bought solely for myself.

“Give him some time too,” Tweek added. And add antimatter to the mix so we can have the whole creation trio make Craig feel better because with all of my failed idiotic attempts, who knows what fucking might.

Token, among the various choices of grubs, decided to take a spoonful of the neglected mushroom soup on the edge of the table.

“This is good,” Token carefully remarks, “but it’s cold.” I don’t remember buying the soup and the sight of it reminded me of the dinner I just had with Craig.

Tweek joined Token in eating some of the food splayed on the large table in front of us—all are from the 50 bucks my dad gave me days ago—and I unwaveringly continued demolishing the mountain of food I needed to satisfy this intense hunger I’m feeling. I’ve finished the mac n’ cheese, mini-pizzas, ice cream, pork steaks, french fries, burgers, sodas, chicken wings, and I felt incredibly full now, but there’s still this lingering itch of craving inside me. So I went for another set of fried wings on Tweek’s side of the table and the onion rings Token started nibbling on.

After taking a sip from the cup of his scalding coffee, Tweek almost appeared exasperated. “Clyde. Stop this,” He said, wearing this pitying gaze of a concerned parent.

“Stop what?” I asked, although I’m highly aware of what he’s talking about. But no amount of warnings can take away the inundating feeling of comfort I get from ingesting these variety of tastes in my mouth. The act forces my hormones to secrete and increase the levels of dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, or whatever chemical is actually responsible for making me feel less of a pathetic person right now.

I felt completely unstoppable right there and then and I was right; no amount of warnings can take me away from the island of food I’m currently inhabiting. Well, just until that last bite of that last burger.

It horribly tasted rancid in my mouth, completely occupying my taste buds with the sour tinge like from a food gone bad. I swallowed, and drank a glass of water in attempts to down the food along with its lurid taste. I felt better for just a bit and for just a little while, until my stomach churned violently and I curled on my seat as a reflex. I groaned in pain, and to pile on more, I started to feel extremely nauseous. My hearing then blurs more every second.

“Tweek,” I heard Token speak, “get a tab-“and the rest went inaudible.

I forced myself to stand up and let my numbing instincts lead me to the nearest bathroom. I walked fast but my gait was wildly swaying until I stumbled on my foot and I almost fell to the floor but a set of arms set me straight and helped me walk.

My vision started fading out too and to close my eyes seems like a very good idea—so I did. I heard an indistinct sound of a door opening, then a blurred clinking sound of what I think is a door getting locked. I felt a warm unwelcoming sensation in my stomach and reached to the airways of my throat. Still, the arm around me ushers me to a room of short confines. I feel him kneeling down so I just took after him.

I opened my eyes and I thought, “This is  _ it _ .”

A toilet. Who knows who have sat here and how  _ clean _ they were. To slightly put my head near it, even if it wouldn’t take a minute, sounded fucking disgusting, but the awful sensation I’m experiencing fought back my strong revulsion.

I gripped the bowl tightly to support myself and threw up the food I gladly ate just moments ago. The burning bile from my stomach seared the pathways it traveled up to my mouth and the horrid stench of its acid content and is not helping me feel better.

Rounds after rounds and I still can’t stop retching and throwing up my guts. I felt a hand rubbing so gently to my back and based on what I read, it doesn’t alleviate the pain of vomiting. However, it does make me feel accompanied and not alone enduring this suffering.

The hand was big, coarse—it’s Token’s hand. I’m grateful for his kind gesture but inwardly, I know it’s not the hand I’m wishing for.

After throwing up presumably all the food in my stomach, I slumped myself, leaning to the panel of the bathroom stall. My senses are gradually recovering but I still feel a bit nauseated.

“Here,” Tweek says, sitting on the floor beside Token, offers me a bottle of water and a mint-looking tablet that I guess must be antacid. For when Token opened the locked door for Tweek, I do not just know.

I took the bottle from him and thought that holding the med tablet on my hand that just gripped a part of the most disgusting hardware in the world then put it on my mouth is not a good idea.

Tweek seemed to get a hold of my thoughts and he straightly instructed me to open my mouth. The scene of an 11th grader opening his mouth for food (this time a med) intake looks silly and very unsightly, but I don’t have a choice. Tweek looked like he threw it in my mouth and as I gulped the whole bottle, I thought I would’ve laughed at it if I could.

“This is why Craig told me to fuck off,” Even I was surprised to the sudden self-deprecating statement, but I felt continuing. “I’m a fucking bother to be with.” I remember yesterday; me hollering in the streets, embarrassing the fuck out of Craig, and now this. I just really can’t stop bothering people with my silly mental problems.

Tweek sidled up beside me. “We wouldn’t stick with you if you’re a bother,” He said with a gentle voice and I felt like crying because I know it’s not true. It sounded like a vicious lie.

“Do you want to go to the clinic?” Token asked.

A hot droplet of tear streaked across my cheek. “No, I wanna go home.” I hate it here. I hate everything here. But really, I just don’t want to feel empty anymore.

“Then you definitely need to go to the clinic,” Token says. I saw the both of them, my best friends, warmly smiling at me. It made me feel a bit glad, but the sight is lacking another person on the supposed sight of my best friends and it hurts a lot. It was the smile of the person who I think mattered the most at the time.

It lacks Craig.

* * *

“You look pale.” Were the words of permission we needed and add Token’s charismatic aura, we got off the school easily without even informing my dad of it first handedly. We ought to give him a call or something lest he goes hysterical. But the nurse said she would inform my dad after we take off from the school.

Token drove me home. I settled myself lying on the couch, placing my head against the headrest and that was the most comforting thing I’ve ever felt since the antacid. Token sat on the end part of my couch, taking my feet on top of his lap. His phone then sounded a loud blaring noise.

He put it on loudspeaker.

“How’s Clyde?!” Dad’s loud panicked voice shook the phone. “Is he okay? Can you stay for him a little while? You should’ve gone to the hospital instead of going home, Token! I’ll be there in ten minutes.” There were loud scuffling noises heard on the other line and Token is visibly nervous of what questions to answer first.

“He’s okay Mr. Dono-“

“Leny! Where in the  _ fuck _ is Laura?!” A calm voice of a middle aged woman speaks and sounded unintelligible, most probably Leny. I gestured to Token to give me the phone and he threw it to me in panic.

“ _ Dad _ . I’m okay,” I said in a reserved tone. Even though we’re on the phone, I still smiled reassuringly. “ _ Please _ don’t get upset. I promise I’m going to be fine.”

“You sure, son? I’ll be there in five minutes,” He says suggestively, even though I heard he’ll be needing at least 10 minutes to get here.

“I’m so, so,  _ so  _ sorry for making you worry.” My chest pricked with the pang of guilt and my eyes started getting hot again. He works day and night, every single day, and now I pull this crazy stunt to make his day get worse.

“Okay, Clyde. Call me when you need anything. Say sorry to Token for me.” And I hung up the phone immediately just so he can’t hear me crying again, but luckily, there are no tears yet. Token promptly wore a worrying gaze at me.

Craig, Tweek, Token, Dad, when can I ever stop bothering them?

“I really hate it when you cry,” Token says.

“I know. I’m sorry for being a constant inconvenience to all of you.” There always gets to be a week in every month where I get overly emotional at everything and my friends have to put up with my excessive shit. I sometimes wish they stop being friends with me; that way, I can totally see them being happy without a fucking blubbering crybaby on their tails.

“You must really hate yourself so much to always think like that.”

“Maybe I do. But am I not just stating facts?” I challengingly asked.

“It actually hurts that you feel so indebted whenever we do something good to you instead of thinking you deserve that because we’re friends and all.” Token, though smiling, looked really hurt on the inside.

“See? I hurt you, I hurt all of you. That’s why I really don’t deserve any of you.”

“No, Clyde. It hurts us to see you hurting.” My chest ached from his words. My throat released a sob and I concluded that here comes the fucking waterworks again.

“Why-“  _ are you even friends with me? _ I wasn’t able to continue the sentence as it was replaced with hiccups and loud annoying sniffling.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Token answers calmly, completely knowing of my unsaid question, “but all I know is you alone makes me, no  _ us _ feel happy, you’re the constant giver of smiles to our faces. Without you, I don’t think we would feel complete and  _ enough _ .

“You remember the time in 4th grade when Stan’s dad said the n-word in the TV?” He asks.

I hummed between my continuous sniveling.

“The 6th graders picked on me all week—calling me all bunch of slurs they could think of. I cried my eyes out in the dumpster beside the school and unexpectedly, you went there looking for me. You accompanied me, you help me stood up, and you made me feel alright.”

“I don’t even remember that.”

“That’s because you always help people and think nothing of it, not knowing that you made a huge impact to that person’s life. That's how I look at you. And I wish that someday, you get to see how wonderful of a person you are.”

Why did it sound like a lie? A complete fabricated story just to make me feel better?

_ “You must really hate yourself so much to always think like that.” _

Perhaps it’s just been me all along, making myself feel small and pathetic. Maybe I’ve been blinding myself to the reality that I do matter, that I’m wanted and truly needed.

Maybe Craig is always there for me because he is happy when I’m around him. Maybe Token never sees me as a bother because he treats me as his equal. Maybe Tweek doesn’t get tired of my dramatic episodes because he knows I don’t get tired too from his anxiety episodes. Maybe my dad works himself to death because he just wants to, and mostly because he loves me.

Would it seem ungrateful and vain to assume I deserve their kind treatment instead of feeling indebted and ever bound to it?

_ “It hurts us to see you hurting.” _

I will always feel bad for myself for being a pathetic loser, I will always hate myself for being the worst person I get to live by every day. But there will always be a part of me that wants to be happy, wanted, and feel enough.

The thought of being undesired is screeching loudly at my head, but I’ll start listening to the selfish side of me from now on.

“I’m so, so sorry Token.” I meant to say ‘thank you’ but to apologize really seemed fit to the shit I’ve done to him.

He turns to me just to give me a warm smile. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

I slept because yeah, it feels so good to sleep after crying. Then I dreamt about Tweek. Something about Tweek.

Tweek….

I jolted awake and noticed from the windows that I might have not slept for long. I saw Token comfortably laying on the single sized sofa, watching something on his phone. Probably some anime because it’s Token.

“Our history presentation! Oh my God!” I exclaimed. How could I even forget? Fuck! We might have just wasted our efforts on the weekend!

“Tweek texted that it’s fine. We had it worked out,” Token said calmly, seating himself on the sofa properly.

“What?” I asked groggily. Getting roused from sleep badly really takes a toll in your physical being.

“I asked Tweek to play the sick card,” Token looked as if he wants to laugh at my panicked state, “Besides, we’re one of the last groups to present so we weren’t even called to present today.” But even if we did get called there and I was in perfect condition, Craig wouldn’t be even there.

What the hell happened to him anyway? He must have confronted his parents about that ‘I’m adopted’ thing and something must have gone wrong.

Token spoke, taking me out of my reverie. “You must be thinking of Craig right now.” He leans down and takes something out of his bag. A plastic with something in it. 

“Yeah.” But in no way I’ll tell him about the attic. I’ll let Craig do that.

“Craig will definitely pull off,” Token says, “I mean,  _ he’s Craig _ !” He started munching on the cupcake that was inside the plastic.

He will, I know he will. But this is the first time I’ve seen him like that; he looked miserable.

If my words can’t do any good for him, then I guess actions will do for now. But what can I actually do for him right now?

“You want some?” Token offers me another cupcake inside the plastic. I happily took it from him.

“Where did you get this anyway?” I asked.

“Leftovers from… you know,” Token chuckles, “but you didn’t touch that among the others there.”

So at least tasting this won’t trigger my PTSD from the canteen.

.

It’s a lemon cupcake.

A little bit unsure, but I definitely know what I’m going to do for Craig.


	5. Thank You, Sparky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dec. 9, 2020: I realized this is one of the worst chapters here. i know every chapter is fucking bad but this one just takes the cake

Tears fall down from my eyes as I behold the horror that is my creation. For what is supposed to be a lemon curd has turned into a lemon soup.

Tupperware lent the money for Mysterion and Human Kite to shop for the ingredients of these lemon bars Toolshed and I were supposed to bake and to be sold as aid for the victims from the Gulf crisis, but Toolshed didn’t show up! I tried contacting Mint-berry Crunch but his name wasn’t in my phone. Awww, I was so psyched for Stan and I to bake in our superheroes costume!

So I decided to bake alone and rely solely from mom’s own recipe book, and that’s when hell broke loose in the kitchen.

As I was trying to cut the first of the two cooled batches of lemon bars, my knife easily went through the should-be curd; it’s raw, or undercooked, or maybe I forgot something, or maybe I don’t know what went wrong. How did I not see this when I pulled it firstly from the oven?

Panic started to rise within me. I put the metal baking pan back to the oven and blasted it to a higher temperature in hopes of cooking the curd into a solid one instead of the runny, soupy one.

I crouched in front of the oven, watching closely to see how my solution will turn out. I closed my eyes and prayed.

_Oh God please. Let these lemon bars be okay. Be okay, be okay, be okay, be okayokayokayokay._

My mind went away from the kitchen as the chanting mantra in my head reassures me that everything will be okay. Until I smelled something burning and it took me out of my reverie.

I opened my eyes and saw smoke come up from the oven. Trembling from anxiety, I immediately opened it and was greeted by the burning smell of bread. The drippy consistency of the curd looked like it was boiling. I put the metal baking pan on the table to take a good look at it and the sight of it was so terrible; the soupy curd was almost gone from evaporation, revealing the sight of the burnt shortbread crust of the lemon bar.

Oh no. OH NO! I wasted Token’s money as well as Kenny and Kyle’s efforts to buy the ingredients!

“Clyde, What are you doing there?” I heard Mom called from the living room. She must have come home early and she’s gonna kill me when she sees me!

Mom came in and her towering adult figure dominated my young stature. She promptly looked at the abomination I made on the table, then to the mess I made from the kitchen counter, sniffing the lingering smoke in the air, then finally looking at me.

Feeling defeated, I fell to my knees and started crying. Crying from the frustrations of not making the lemon bars right, from the guilt of wasting everyone’s efforts, and from fear of Mom’s terrifying scolding.

She crouched beside me and wiped the overflowing tears streaming on my face, partly wiping also the heaps of flour on my clothes. She spoke calmly, “Making lemon bars, sweetie?” I shyly nodded.

“Why are you making it alone? You could have just waited for me.”

“I cannot tell you, mom. I’m actually sworn to secrecy by my super organization.” I said in between hiccups. She landed a quick kiss on my floury forehead and my crying almost came to a complete halt. Mom really knows how to calm me down.

“Can I join in on your big secret?” She asks, playfully. “Tell you what, I’m the biggest secret keeper in the whole town!”

Cartman will kill me if I tell about us but I felt obliged to tell her everything. She’s my mom, okay?

“Me and my friends made a superhero agency. I suggested a bake sale of lemon bars and we can use the profit as aid for the gulf crisis victims.”

“Really?” Mom’s eyes sparkles in amazement. She brought me up standing, “Not only you are a bright kid, but you are kind too!” She took her hand through my hair and I looked up at her radiant face, smiling warmly at me.

My mom helped me clean the mess I made and I was sad when she told me to throw the second batch I made because it was ‘beyond repair’, she said. She also started up making another batch too, and let me help her and watch the whole correct process of making the lemon bars.

Eggs. The whole baking fiasco was just because of eggs. Apparently, I had switched the number of eggs that was supposed to go with the crust and to the curd.

My dad came shortly after from his geologist stuff job. He has bags on his both hands and all seemed like the ingredients of lemon bars. Mom must have texted Dad on his way home. It makes me happy that he always gets to work short hours in his job.

“Stan’s Dad says his son can’t come here for some reason. He’ll go tomorrow morning for the packaging though.” Dad informs, looking confused as he didn’t know the information he just relayed.

Dad went to his room shortly after and Mom brought the cooled lemon bar on the table. Before cutting it evenly to 24 pieces (according to her recipe book), she powdered it first with confectioner’s sugar and another powder that I do not know and is not a part of her recipe book.

Mom picked a piece with a fork and gestured to me to open my mouth so she can make me taste it. I excitedly obliged. My mouth was filled with the sweet, a little bit spicy (from the unknown powder she put), and the lemony flavor of the bar.

“ _Mom!_ This’s so good!” I happily exclaimed. Mom smiles at me with that ‘of-course!’ vibe.

Dad entered the kitchen, now dressed with comfy home clothes. He slipped past us and took a piece of lemon bar on the table with his hand.

“Roger, we have _fork_ over here!” Mom scolded him and my dad just shrugged, taking a bite of the lemon bar.

“Oh, hon, this really is good!” Mom just laughed at the compliment.

“Mom,” I said, taking another bite of the lemon bar from the fork, “you should definitely make more of these!” Dad hummed loudly in agreement.

“Of course, sweetie. Anything for you.” She heartwarmingly says, planting a quick kiss on my cheek.

Still unsatisfied, I stabbed another sliced piece of lemon bar on the cooled baking pan. As I happily munched through the sweet flavors, I giddily thought of the next few days my mom will bake another desert for me to get fat on.

Unbeknownst to me that these lemon bars will be the last desert my mom would make for me.

* * *

I smiled wistfully at the reminisced sweet nostalgic memory. Those are one of the moments with Mom that I’ll never forget. With my emotional instability, one may think that I should be hitting myself over the thought of my late mother, but no. I am happy because she was happy then. I don’t want to be sad when I remember her warm and happy smiles back then.

Craig hasn’t been going to school for two days now. Of fucking course. No one would expect him to show up to school after he went ballistic to that teacher. I heard from Wendy that he got suspended.

Our homes were just beside each other and yet, I still can’t let myself be in there for just a second. But today is the day, no matter what happens, I will do this for him. I’ve given him enough time I guess? Well, two days is not exactly that long.

I grabbed a handful of lemons and put it all on the shopping cart Stan is maneuvering—he really insisted on coming with me. I am shopping for groceries to buy ingredients for lemon bars in hopes that these can make Craig feel a little comfort. I sold one pack of lemon bars to him that day, hours before the bake sale and he said that it was totally delicious.

“Didn’t really know you’re into buying groceries. That’s just weird,” I coolly spoke.

“Me too, actually. I just find it kind of relaxing and somehow mind-soothing,” Stan explains, looking really chilled while pushing the shopping cart around.

“Be careful though, that’s the telltale sign of compulsive shopping.” Because Stan has been noted to have addiction problems: the whiskey, the mobile game, he even tried smoking one time.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I always have money or something.”

“Why? Lorde almighty’s money ran out?” I snidely asked, giving him a snarky smirk.

Stan punches my arm lightly, “Screw you, Clyde.” He joined in my cackling fit right after.

Hanging out with Stan is pretty cool too. Not to compare or anything, but his natural chill demeanor and personality is completely different from any person in our group. Token is also like that but he has this parental attitude that inhibits us to do insane things. Stan is just this collected, cool guy that can take you out to normal things, then later to a let’s-destroy-south-park level of craziness.

Craig’s encounter with that kind of attitude of their group in 4th grade is what makes him stay out of their range. I think I’d like to try it for myself first, then see how bad or good it is. From the looks of it: the collapse of beaver dam, get thrown to another continent, wreck shit in Dateline, get possessed by Satan, I mean it looked cool as hell! Even Tweek became this badass and got to threaten people with bazooka when he once hung out with them.

“You’re gonna make lemon bars,” Stan says, looking at the things I put in the cart.

“Of course, dummy. What else can I do with them?”

“You know, lemon pie, lemon cake, lemon muffins, lemon pudding, lemon cu-“

“Okay, okay. You’ve prove your point.” I gestured to him to get to the line at the counter.

“About the lemon bars…” Stan pauses, like his next words will be hard to say,” I’m sorry I didn’t show up to help you bake in 4th grade.”

“Oh. The bake sale?” Funny how I was just thinking about that earlier.

“Well, Sparky peed on my Toolshed costume and I don’t want to go out smelling like a dog piss.”

“It’s okay.” I smiled at him. It’s more than okay. Had he been there to help me, I would never be able to taste my Mom’s version of lemon bars.

I guess I should thank the dog for making me have an unforgettable memory with Mom.

* * *

“It’s ground nutmeg, Clyde,” Dad says on the phone. He has always had this hour for himself some time after noon and that’s when he usually takes his lunch.

“Really? It’s been years, Dad. Why only tell me now?” I’ve been baking lemon bars many times after 5th grade and he’s always the judge of it. He should have told me by then.

“Nothing. I just thought of letting it be discovered by yourself.”

“Well, now we can’t have that!” I said, annoyed. I opened the shelf drawer of the kitchen counter to see if we have any nutmeg powder left. I could have known what it was if my Dad wasn’t buying all the spice dusts in the world!

“I just said it because I know you’re going to share it with Craig.” He really knows a lot of things about me, doesn’t he? Well given that his secretary is Craig’s mother, me comforting my friend will not be news to everyone.

“I don’t know what to say to him, Dad,” I confessed. The oven timer dinged, making me get the mitts to open it up.

“I don’t know either what to say, Clyde. Certainly, I’m not his best friend.”

I suppose that meant I’m the only one who can understand him the way everyone cannot. I bet Tweek would make a better company than I am.

The smell of the cooked lemon bar wafted around the kitchen and compared to the monstrosity of my attempts when I was a kid, I say it is perfect for Craig now!

I wish I’m perfect for Craig, too.

* * *

I know it may not be the same as my mother’s cooking, but I still definitely did my best out there. I packaged it in a designed plastic and bowed a thin ribbon on it. I tasted it beforehand and it’s actually just fine. Maybe it’s because it lacks a mother’s touch. It will be impossible to have that now! I hope Clyde’s touch will be enough.

“Hi, Clyde…” Tricia greets—she was trying to sound enthusiastic to my presence but utterly fails at pretending to do so. She looked like a mess; her clothes were all but clean and her hair was not tied to the usual pigtails and was partly disheveled.

The air around us grew thick. To start a conversation, I tried asking her, “Is Cr-“

“Yes,” She says glumly.

The Tuckers are well known to be the stoic and not-giving-a-fuck family, all the time. To see Tricia like this must mean the whole thing with Craig is putting their family into great distress.

If Tricia looks terrible now, then Craig must be so much more.

The light-haired girl made herself into her room, leaving me hanging in the living room of their house. Her door was uncharacteristically closed quietly. If Thomas was here, I would have heard the loud whirring from his workshop, meaning, he’s not home.

I didn’t accustom this house to be this unbearably silent. It made me realize how lifeless the house has become. The couch where my dad and Craig’s parents were just having fun then was vacant and tidied neatly. The television where Tricia is always watching on is turned off. And I also just discovered that the landscape family picture was nowhere to be seen.

There is a lot of furniture to be seen in this room but the absence of that single invaluable frame made the room feel drearily empty. I cannot even call it a _living_ room anymore.

I dragged myself upstairs, pushing away the downing atmosphere looming around me. In order to get to Craig, I need to be strong, just for once.

As I was nearing the door of his room, I caught the sight of something even more depressing than the taken off picture in the living room.

Trays of untouched food and drinks are lined up on the side of the wall before the door of Craig’s room. While the wall in front of the door has several sticky notes plastered all over the place written with short sentences.

I trudged near Craig’s room, feeling discouraged giving these lemon bars to him. I sat on the floor, slumping and leaning on the door behind me. I hope the thud can give away to Craig that someone is here for him.

I looked up to the varying colors of the sticky notes, reading them one by one.

_We are sorry for keeping it a secret from you_

_We love you so much, Craig_

_Please let us have another chance to talk again_

_Our love for you will never change_

_How does the egg sandwich taste_

I knocked dispiritedly on the door behind me.

“This is Clyde…” I spoke gloomily. Surrendering, I felt myself entirely affected by the depressing atmosphere hanging on the hallway.

I heard nothing from the other side of the door.

“I made lemon bars.” I found myself having a downcast smile on my lips.

Still, nothing.

“I swear, this is delicious.” I doubt he’ll eat it.

“Our presentation in history is actually next week…” I don’t even know what to say anymore.

No noise, still.

Then it struck me. Craig always gets to comfort me whenever I’m down, he knows what makes me calm then makes me happy afterwards. But me… I don’t know. I know nothing. I don’t know Craig at all.

I just want Craig to be happy again but I can do nothing about it.

If I can’t then who can? _What_ can?

.

.

.

.

“I wish it would rain again… like that rainy night.” I’ve always been thinking about it since the night it happened. To spend those moments again with Craig. Because at that time, he was happy—we were so happy.

“I can’t ever forget that happened between us. It’s weird, I know, but it’s the closest we’ve been to each other." I really wish there could be more of it and we could be closer than before.

“I didn’t know what made me stop there under that streetlight. Part of me thinks it’s because I want to see your face—I’ve never seen a smile like you wore that night.” And I was enthralled with his radiant smile that brightly lit his face from the darkness of the night. My heart sank deeply at the sight and it still flutters whenever I remember it time and time again. It hurts that the smile seemed too far away from ever happening again.

“I never thought I’d be the receiving end of it. I didn’t think I could make you _that_ happy since you were the one who always did that for me.

“You make me so happy, Craig. I wish you could be just as happy.” My throat itches and my voice starts to shake. “It hurts me so much to see you like this.”

I can see the tears blurring my vision. I’ve been pouring my heart out, exposing my bare feelings to him and I can still hear no response from the other side of the door. He can’t be asleep. He can’t be just unconscious. He must be ignoring me, and I still can't reach him.

“I miss you.” It’s just been days and I can stand the days which I don’t see him. However, to know he’s hurting, that he is in constant pain. I hate it. I miss him, I do. I miss Craig that always wears a plain face that I know smiles from the inside.

“I can never know what you feel right now,” I say, trying to sympathize with his feelings.

“But I’m here,” I say, blending life to my voice.

“Even if you don’t want me, I’ll always be here for you,” I uttered, my voice shaking on the edge of sobbing. “I know I can never be enough but I’ll still be here for you.”

A loud impact quaked the door on my behind that I instinctively jumped away from it. Seconds later, yet another blaring thumps accompanied by labored grunts once more shook the door repeatedly.

I stared at the shuddering door, completely dumbstruck. The actions seemed to halt down as the noises faded away but it proceeded with faint, muffled cries from the inside. 

I stood up quickly. It’s Craig!

I was about to plead for him to open his door but when I tried twisting the doorknob open, I discovered it was not locked in the first place. It is evident that Craig pushes people away from him but I realized he must be inwardly wanting for someone to really come for him.

The room is in shambles as every item and furniture present were all but thrashed, surrounding Craig who is just a meter away from the doorframe. I see his inert frame curled on the floor, only wearing an undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He is visibly trembling from the discernible emotions etched on his face. I promptly closed the door, kneeling in front of him, wishing he will acknowledge my presence solely for him.

Now that I can see him completely, I observed how his hair is cut more shortly, his undershirt has questionable large stains on it, the smell of alcohol on him intensified even more than the last time I saw him, and his knuckles are bruised and wounded. He’s obviously in pain, but would it seem too invading to hold him and pull him to myself?

“Craig,” I say, trying to take his attention to me. His weak body continues to violently shake and his sobbing, though quiet, seemed uncontrollable. He breathes loud and quick from his mouth as if he was gasping for air. The sight was unlikely of Craig, but more the reason for my heart to sink in sadness.

Pushing the thoughts of uncertainty, I lay both of my hands to his shoulders, not minding the chilling touch of his skin, and slowly pull himself to my side. I leaned on the wall beside the doorframe to support our sitting postures. I extended an arm around him to offer an adorning embrace.

I didn’t mind how his hair and skin is sticky, or how he was shaking wildly, or how his tears are wetting my arms, the only thing mattered is that I’m here with him. He accepts me. Even though I’m just this lowly person, he still accepted me.

Feeling once again his presence and touch, it made me understand my feelings for him. I really missed him so much. I don’t think I can ever stand a day without him again. All of these just because of these gnawing yet, tender feelings for him.

“I’m here,” I say, feeling surprised that I didn’t cry too through the whole ordeal. Perhaps because I want to imitate Craig on how he too, makes me feel better.

Craig, for the first time in the day, even though in between severe amounts of sobs, finally speaks, “Don’t leave.” His straining tone sounded that of begging me with the voice so quiet that I couldn’t almost hear its coarseness. He looked as if he dreaded the request and feared my possible refusal.

I put up the most sincere smile I can make even though he wouldn’t see. “Why would I even do that?”

Craig wanted to answer, but decided to keep it instead. It actually hurts that he thought I’d do such a vile thing to him because he knows I’m his friend. 

Through this intimate contact, I felt Craig being a bit at ease. With those two in mind, it made me feel at ease too. No matter what the situation is, Craig’s touch will always remain as my own shelter.

Craig’s crying eventually came to a stop. I felt him limp on my arms, breathing gently in and out of his nose. He looked so awful just earlier that it felt invigorating to see him now gladly at peace.

His skin looks paler than before and the bags under his eyes are darker and deeper than ever. This must be the first time he’ll get a good sleep in days.

My heart tells me to just do it, and my mind said it would also make him feel better. I planted a light kiss on his forehead. I might be doing it out of a romantic gesture, but mostly in hopes it could slightly alleviate his distress like the effect that it does to me.

I really thought the lemon bars would make him feel better. I didn’t expect that I, myself would be the one to do that instead.

I guess I might have a place in his heart after all.

* * *

Fuck! Why did I kiss him there? Fucking feelings clouding my fucking judgment.

Now I fucking regret it. Fuckfuckfuck what if he was a bit awake to feel that?

* * *

I found myself sleeping too with my arms around Craig. The closeness of our bodies and the contacts of our skin makes my heart swell in joy.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It must have been just a half an hour and now I’m finding it difficult to maintain this position with him. Even with Craig’s lanky figure, he still felt heavy on my body. One wrong move though, he’ll surely wake up. Or not?

.

.

.

.

Hopefully, I can reach my phone in my pocket without moving too much.

.

.

_._

_[5:57PM]Me: Tricia, I’m in Craig’s room. He’s sleeping. Assist me._ Because saying ‘help me’ may imply emergency.

Minutes later I hear quiet footsteps nearing the outside of this room. I took my arms away from Craig and carefully put him into a leaning position on the wall. The thing is I don’t want anyone to know I have this weirdy-weirdy with my _friend_ Craigy-Craigy.

Tricia opened the door quietly.

I don’t know what happened in the span of hours in this house, but Tricia looked bright now compared for how she looked just earlier. She might have only been needing a shower just then, but she still looked a bit downcast than her usual happy-snarky personality.

I gestured to her to kneel beside us.

“I managed to get him to calm down,” I say, practically whispering at this volume.

“Seems like it. Way to go,” She replies with the same volume with a hint of annoyance.

I let it go. I completely understand where she is coming from. “I need help with getting him to bed.”

I carried most of his weight and fortunately, Craig did not wake up. He really must be out of it.

I sat beside him on the edge of his bed with Tricia doing the same. We gazed at the terrible sight of the room; the dresser drawer is flipped with all his clothes scattered around the room, his school items are also scattered on every corner of the room, and there are empty bottles of what I assume is booze, laying around in the corner. I cannot imagine how Craig manages to be in this lifeless shell he created for himself. It’s terrifying and depressing at the same time.

“I didn’t know anything about this until he holed himself up here,” Tricia started. “We don’t act dramatic to most things in our lives. Not only we are raised like that, but we are practically born with it. Well, Craig, not really.” Then she chuckled dryly. “For him to act like this. It must have been tough for him.”

“I know,” I said, “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“I didn’t really get it, to be honest. If I were Craig, I’d be grateful for the people who adopted me instead of be angry at them. I’d return their love that they’ve given me,” she explains, sounding like a person venting out problems.

“But he’s not angry at your parents. He’s angry at himself.” Tricia turned her gaze at me, inspecting my words thoroughly.

I continued, “He’s adopted. His biological parents abandoned him, given him up for strangers he isn’t even related to in any way. With what I see in him, he might have felt like a total reject in the world for him to be given up moments after his birth. I mean, he never even got to see his birth mother. Even if I don’t know anything about what he's feeling right now, I say that _that_ must really hurt.”

“Tricia,” I gently called, looking at her with a reassuring smile, “Craig’s just been having a hard time to process all of this at once. He might have been projecting his feelings on all of you, but we must be strong for him.” I looked behind me to see Craig’s peaceful rest. “He really needs us right now.”

Tricia looked deep in her own thoughts. “You’re right. Thank you, Clyde.” I laughed quietly.

“No. Thank _him_.” Because I wouldn’t be what I am right now if it weren’t for him.

“Craig is really lucky to have you, you know?” Tricia sincerely says. What’s with everyone saying things like that to me? So it prompted me to have a reply like,

“Craig is just as _blessed_ to have us all.” Tricia smiled

Taking a glance of sleeping Craig once again, it made me revisit the memories I had with him. I really had to correct myself. I was the fortunate one to have him in my life.


	6. For The Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read another Craig/Clyde fic recently and I realized, compared to this fic to theirs, besides their noticeable good writing over mine, this fic is pure vanilla:  
> Sex is just some self-loving, these kids have good relationship with their parents, and these kids have good grades. Without the thing with Clyde in Chapter II, this fic would have been a G rated fic with all the fluffs for every chapter (K+ for FFN).  
> Some of you are reading this because you like Craig/Clyde fics, so I recommend reading scarylolita’s [Tabula Rasa](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11226151) (FFN: 11226151). It’s a good read!
> 
> Now this chapter will feel weird. The focus won’t be on Clyde, but with Craig. I hope it can still be entertaining to you lots.
> 
> Dec 9,2020: Please read ^ it's so good compared to this shit. And also, read other cryde fics, im 1000% sure its 10000% better than this shiiett.

Never a year goes by that I don’t get to eat any lemon bars.

Clyde always offers me his lemon bars. He usually bakes those whenever he gets extra money on himself.

_ “My father gave me 50 bucks to waste. Want me to score us some drugs?” _

No, Clyde, you can use them to make your lemon bars and I’d be happy to indulge on them. Even though you still can’t find that taste you were looking for—it’s nutmeg by the way—I will always be up for your lemon bars.

Honestly speaking, it isn’t really the baked good that I’m up for.

It’s Clyde.

I don’t think I’ve ever missed a lemon bar he made, and I made sure that I always get a taste when he bakes those. I remember the early times that it doesn’t taste quite good until in 8th grade where he almost perfected it just without the damned nutty spice. I might have forgotten some days and some of its tastes. However, up to this day, I can never forget the first time he made those lemon bars by himself.

It was the day after his mother’s burial.

_ “Let’s eat these lemon bars!” _ I remember the strained enthusiasm he wore that day when he offered a single slice to me in his room.

It tasted utterly disgusting. I didn’t even hide the sign of distaste on my face. He saw me and he looked hurt, and I didn’t care because back then, I really wanted him to know that it tasted like shit.

_ “Come on, Craig. It’s not that bad,” _ he says and grabbed a single slice and took a bite. He gagged after the first two chews and still swallowed just to prove a point.

Out of pity, I tried eating the whole bar.

_ “What games do you want to play?” _ He asked as I sat on his floor and watched him jitter in anxiety. I didn't want to play any game that day and I wanted to go home. I remember hating my mom for forcing me to hang out with Clyde.

We played some Tekken game and I hated it so much. Clyde wasn’t in his usual self so I effortlessly beat him in every single match. After his defeat for the third time, his arms dramatically slumped, the controller hitting the floor hard.

_ “I miss my mommy.” _

That moment, I thought that  _ ‘that’s fucking it!’ _ and I stood up quickly and walked out of his room.

_ “Craig! I-I..Pl- don’t go!” _ He loudly pleaded, and with the silence of the house, his voice reverberated on the hallway of his house.

I still left him in his room. I couldn’t stand his dramatic immature crying because it looked so fucking childish and fucking annoying. I had to go to their kitchen first to throw up the disgusting shit he made me eat; the shit didn’t sit right in my stomach. Before I left the house, I heard the deafening sound of wailing from the upstairs that only justified my actions of leaving.

I thought that if I give him days after this, he’d be back to normal.

Hours later that day, in my room, I heard glasses shatter and a loud clang of metal. I thought it was in my room until I saw through my window that in front of Clyde’s house, there’s a metal baking pan flipped over with a bunch of sliced lemon bars scattered on the ground along with the shards of window glass.

_ ‘So fucking dramatic,’ _ I thought.

I can’t believe it took so much time for me to realize that I was fucking horrible. I could never forgive myself for doing that. 

Even as I think about it now, the guilt still devours me whole; the shame pricking my insides. Because he had never done something remotely bad to me and I painlessly did more severe than that to him. That’s why when I cried for his presence yesterday, when I pleaded he doesn’t leave and stay with me instead, I felt so ashamed and fucking selfish.

I know he would stay because he’s the kindest person I’ve known and I was happy that he chose to stay with me. But deep inside me, I wished he left me suffering there. So he could have the satisfaction of me being left out at my most vulnerable state like the time I did that to him.

It’s been 7 years since and now he still considers me as his best friend. I wonder if he has already forgiven me or something. When can I ever take up the courage to ask him that?

Even with my eyes closed, I felt the sunrise peeking from my windows. I feel Clyde’s arm around my back. I laboriously opened my eyes, paving myself through the stinging headache, and fighting the reflexive drooping of my eyelids. I gaze at his expressionless face as he peacefully sleeps beside me. The faint sunlight barely brightens his gentle look. Even when he sleeps, he still looked like a kind person, a pure young soul.

I cupped his cheek, my fingers reveling on its softness. I leaned up closer to him to feel his warm breaths on my face. Its warmth made my eyes moisten from the heartache. This is the closest we can ever be. I wish we could be closer than this. I wish he would let me.

Even if he wouldn’t, he’d still be the best thing that happened in my life.

* * *

It’s 9 in the morning and Craig is still not awake. I slept with Craig in his bed and I really thought it would feel awkward, but it wasn’t. I rested a dreamless sleep and all went by in just a blur. By the time I woke up, our laying figures were so far apart from each other in the small bed that even Tweek can fit inside. What made me feel tired that I was able to sleep that quickly was the cleaning. Even with Tricia’s help, it still took all night to tidy up Craig’s room. Perhaps the most challenging part of the cleaning are the broken shards of bottles around the room.

I never knew Craig would turn into drinking when he gets into an emotional distress. How did he even manage to get these anyways?

Kenny McCormick.

It’s like the playboy mags I’ve been borrowing from him over the years. He will always have the matured, obscure stuff hanging around in his house.

I don’t want to be like my dad, but I really want to take Craig to the hospital. His knuckles are wounded from last night, the last food he ate might be the soup on Monday, and his only methods of hydration were alternating between tap water from his sink and the bottles of booze stashed under his bed. 

His mom disagreed with my suggestion and insisted we take care of him. She was right though. If he wakes up any sooner in the hospital with our faces greeting him, he might revert back to his incandescent, unapproachable character.

I looked again around the room sitting on the bed with Craig sleeping peacefully behind me. The once lifeless room with toppled-over objects and scattered rubbish everywhere is now back to the way it used to be, like the way I always see it when I visit him here.

Among the things that Craig fucked up, there’s one thing he didn’t touch: the big cage of his guinea pigs. In fact, the guinea pigs were actually well-fed and well taken care off. Craig really has a soft spot with animals. Not just with his pets, but with us too. He is sometimes a thoughtful and caring person, you know? Sometimes, when Tweek goes bananas over something small, he’s the one to step up to ease him off. Not to mention that when I cry over something not worth crying about, he’d be there to comfort me. I’ve known this trait of him for years and I was so sure I really know things about him since I’m his best friend.

That’s why when I saw him cry last night, I was shocked that I didn’t know what to do, because Craig doesn’t cry, ever. I thought that he’s just this strong, stoic person that never lets his emotion get to him. Now that I’ve thought about it, I really don’t know anything about Craig at all. I just convinced myself that I do because he let me call him my own best friend.

The fuck, who am I to deprive Craig of an emotion I always overreact to for every day in my life? Craig is just any other person too, of course he gets sad. It’s just that I do not know anything about it and never cared at all to ask him.

He will always be asking things like,

_ You okay, Clyde? _

_ Feeling alright, dude? _

_ Need to ease off for a moment? _

And I never bothered to do the same thing to him. Now I feel like a self-centered idiot.

“You must be hungry,” Tricia says, partly appearing on the doorframe of the room.

“I’m fine.” No I’m not, I’m freaking starving right here.

“It’s not like he’d be up anytime sooner.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we have breakfast or anything.” Because Dad probably is in work with Laura right now, and Thomas has something out of South Park today.

Tricia looked annoyed but she knows I’m right. “Just come down, okay?! I’d come up with something.” She grabbed her phone in her pocket and went away.

Tricia would take forever to come up with something so I decided to stay in the room for a little while.

I browsed some on the timelines of social media. The Knitts girl posted another revealing picture of her on Instagram and gathered hundreds of likes. She is  _ indeed _ hot and guys are pretty much drooling over her in the hallways, but her looks really much made up for the trash attitude she possesses. Every sane person in the school hated her and what really hurts to think about is that even Wendy, the friendliest towards every girl in the campus, decided to hate on her too.

I feel the weight of the bed shifting as the person behind me stirs a bit.

I browsed some more. It seems like Stan is hanging out with that Bennett guy from the Jap class too. For Stan to like such a guy, then that Bennett guy must be really cool or something.

Suddenly, I hear a light sneeze behind me. It means Craig is finally awake. I promptly turned around to see Craig, a light chuckle escaping my lips because the sneeze sounded too childish to come from him.

“Good morning,” I greeted quietly. He wore a plain face, making a small grunt before trying to open his eyes.

“Bright.” He says. I immediately closed the curtains on his window to darken the room. The room would’ve looked glum if a person is alone here.

“How do you feel right now?” I asked.

“Shit,” he replied stiffly.

I brightly smiled to gently lighten up the mood, “You’ll fee-“

“You should go,” he deadpans. Fuck, that hurt. I really felt sullen from that and thought of walking out but I know it will make things worse. I simply stayed put on his bed.

“Go.” He sounded like he was begging me to do so.

I shook my head no.

“ _ Clyde _ .” The tone of his voice increased. He’s irate.

“You’re pushing people away again.” I really thought I made progress last night. I guess he always kind of regressed whenever I do something like that to him.

He says nothing, turning around to face the wall so he wouldn’t see me. Being the annoying person I am, I laid down beside him. I wanted to talk to him about everything, or at least anything—I just want him to talk, but I can’t seem to talk to him either. I decided to do something on my phone instead.

I was booting up a farming game on my phone until I heard a light snore beside me. Craig does not snore.

“You really want me out of here, don’t you?” I asked.

I heard him click his tongue loudly, his back still turned on me, “You really don’t know when to fuck off, do you?” He used the tone reserved for people that annoy him.

“Do you hate me, Craig?”

“I do. Now fuck off!” The harsh tone stung in my chest—he is angry but the vibe he emits is strangely familiar.

I stood up, slowly walked out of the room and gently closed the door. I’ll give him space… for now.

* * *

Before going down the stairs, I picked up the dishes sadly laying on the floor beside the door of the room. Some of those were starting to smell acrid as a sign of it going bad.

It seems like Tricia called Tweek to bring breakfast here. They were chatting in the dining area with two tall thermos (of course it’s coffee) on the table.

I went to the kitchen counter and peeled out the plastic covering on the plate of the egg sandwich and blasted it into the microwave. Judging by the looks of the lettuce inside the tasty bread, the sandwich is at least a day old—still edible for anyone. I’m not going to eat it though. It was made for Craig, so he should eat it. I’m going to make him eat it.

_ The vibe he emits is strangely familiar. _

It’s because I know for myself what emotion Craig is exhibiting. For a fact, I  _ always _ do that but I didn’t know it looked like  _ that _ when doing so. It’s hard to explain, but it’s the feeling whenever you really are in a bad mood, you don’t want others to comfort you so you push them away and when they leave you alone, you feel even worse with the feelings of solitude.

I know the embedded character of Craig in my mind is this strong, stoic person, but with his display of emotional volatility, I would say that he could be capable of this emotion. It’s silly I know, that’s why I always feel it.

As I sit on the chairs of the table, I hear them talking about Craig and what happened during the days of his absence. I poured a generous amount of coffee on the extra cup and it tasted good. It’s Tweek’s own blend.

Tweek saw my reaction from the taste of his coffee mix. “You should give some to him too,” he suggests.

Of course. Even though he doesn’t like coffee at all.

* * *

I twisted the doorknob of his room, a tray of glass of water, a scalding coffee mug and a plate of egg sandwich laying on my arm.

It was locked.

My excited smile instinctively drooped and my chest sank from rejection. I’m so stupid.

I lowered my arms to lay down the tray food in front of his door, fully knowing he won’t eat this.

Halfway through the task, the door opened. It’s Craig with new clothes and a chullo hat over his head. Compared to his look from earlier, he seemed entirely new and fresh.

Even though he did not eat well for days, he still ate the sandwich slowly and with grace. He hated coffee, he said so in 7th grade, but he still drank the whole mug. I timidly watch him consume the food in the tray from a chair afar. Even though I feel so bad for being so stupid just earlier, the scene of Craig finally eating food made me feel at least a bit glad.

After drinking the glass of water, he laid down again on his bed. There must be something in the bed that keeps him attracted there. Heh, I wish I was the bed.

Silence filled the room and the air felt displeasingly suffocating. He’s staring at me. I feel his eyes at me but I hung my head down to avert his gaze. Why so suddenly I can’t talk to him anymore? Is it because of his genuine display of anger to me from earlier?

_ I do. Now fuck off! _

I even came up with this crackpot theory about him wanting me with his side but who the fuck am I kidding? He might have needed me last night, but more than that is just me being clingy, and now I’m pestering him by being so touchy-feely towards him.

“I’m sorry,” I felt saying, “for annoying you so much. Even  _ I _ was annoyed by myself.” I debated on walking out the room again until Craig finally spoke.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs.

Silence settled in the air again. I finally looked up and was surprised that he is still looking at me.

I speak up again, “I was just  _ so _ worried.”

“I know.”

“How do you feel now?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, sounding confused. I smiled at him, hoping for him to open up and elaborate.

Moments later, he relented. “I just don’t want to feel alone,” he says shyly. Well, who wants to be alone anyway?

“But you push people away.”

“I’m really fucked up, aren’t I?” Craig chuckles dryly.

“No, you are not,” I said firmly. “You do that because you feel like every person you know is bound to do that to you eventually. You don’t want to feel that so you prevent it by pushing them away first.”

“That’s ridiculous and I don’t think I was like that for some time,” he said, incredulity etched into his face.

“You’re right. But things changed the moment you learned you were adopted.” I saw Craig grit his teeth, his hand gripping the sheet of his bed.

“ _ Fuck _ !” He slapped his forehead, groaning in frustration.

“It’s alright to feel like that, you know?” Perhaps that’s what I tell myself to not feel bad to my incessant dramas.

“No. I hate feeling these fucking feelings.” Craig fidgeted on his bed, clearly looking exposed—a rare sight you will almost never see. “So what if I’m adopted? Why does it mess me up? Most people shrug it off—why can’t I?”

The answer is I don’t know and to say just that means that I’m of no help at all. It’s better than to be that know-it-all idiot though.

“I don’t know,” I falteringly say.

“Like I said many times before, I can never know how you feel,” I added. My mind was sailing around in hopes to land a good advice, but it just can’t.

“But when Mom died-“ I was a bit shocked that it came out of my mouth, but I decided to ignore it and continue. “I felt alone too. It was early for her to leave me and it felt really unfair.” Craig suddenly looked apologetic.

“I didn’t know for myself but I wished I could’ve made the most of it when she was still here. Like carpe every diems so in the end of it all, I wouldn’t be sorry.

“I know it’s not the same for you but what I mean to say is that you should talk through this with your parents. Staying like this won’t just prolong this, but make things even worse. I bet you know what I’m saying.” Craig shrugged reluctantly.

I want to fucking scream. I don’t really know what the fuck I’m saying anymore. Does my sudden sob-story even helpful to him? Maybe I should just stop talking.

So I did just that, and looked at Craig. His mind is probably off right now, he’s staring at the ceiling for a period of time.

I have said all my worries and concerns over him. This is the farthest I can do for him. Whether he will do something about it or not, it should be all totally up to him.

But whatever he will do, the outcome will always be the best. I mean, he’s Craig after all! 

* * *

It felt odd that my appetite for food went back. I guess it’s because of the shower, or the sandwich—or Clyde.

It definitely was Clyde.

No one’s around in the kitchen room when I went for a fridge raid. I still feel hungry even if what I ate normally can last for a whole day. When I opened the fridge, I noticed that it’s almost empty, save for the water pitchers and this cutesy plastic with stringy ribbon on top placed at the end of the divider.

_ I made lemon bars. _

I was surprised I remembered that. Honestly, Clyde’s voice sounded dull and distorted to my hearing back then that I wasn’t able to make up most of what he said outside my room. What made my ears clear out that moment was this sentence he said:

_ Even if you don’t want me, I’ll always be here for you. _

I fucking hated it. What made him think I don’t want any of him? That he has to say that he’ll always be there for me when I should be the one saying those words to him. Weakened, but it forced me to stand up and lash out the senseless hatred from the inside. Maybe I was angry at Clyde for thinking like that to me, but really, I was angry at myself for making him think like that.

The door thing? I taught myself to just keep inside whatever this shit feelings I experience. But with sleep deprivation, mixed with booze and some drugs that Kenny’s brother gave me, it made me come out of my shell. It made me feel reminded that I do not belong to this family where little things like this won’t affect their lives. Fuck me. It made me feel like I don’t belong anywhere anymore. It makes me question myself who the fuck am I.

_ But no matter what happens, you’ll still be Craig Tucker. Thomas and Laura’s son, Tricia’s brother, and Clyde’s best friend. _

Oh fuck, please let it be true.

I put the lemon bars on the plate first before going upstairs to my room. I examined first the lemon bar in my hand before eating it like the usual thing I do whenever Clyde makes me taste his work. Although, what’s the point of examining it if I’ll still eat it nonetheless? It’s the habit I picked up from all the days Clyde made me eat his product of work.

I took a small bite and chewed slowly. It must have been day old because the bread is starting to feel hard on my mouth. However, it still tasted good. He finally got that spice correct. It almost tasted like that first time he offered me lemon bars. Back in 4th grade, when his mom actually baked those and he just helped a bit. These lemon bars must be that important to him. It’s why he continuously makes them. It makes him feel reminded of his late mother. Whether he made these sweets for me with the intent to feel that or not, I think it made me finally understand something.

_ Like carpe every diems so in the end of it all, I wouldn’t be sorry. _

He was jealous of me. Because I have something that he once had but he unexpectedly lost. He regretted it like it was a mortal sin. And now, he doesn’t want me to befall in that position.

It really was unfair of me to act like this—to act shitty towards the people who accepted me and to even yearn to those people who rejected me firsthand. It still hurts to think about, but today, I think I really need to be the Tucker I was supposed to be. I may not be born with it, but I can adapt (fuck adopt) it, and push these feelings away and feel nothing about it.

_ For the better _ , I thought. Totally. For Mom, for Dad, for Tricia.

I smiled.

And especially, for Clyde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My major concern to this fic is about coherence. I screwed up the first chapter and the rest following it was a disaster. I will still try harder to do better though!


	7. Conglaturations!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my third edit to this note. The first was too self-shaming, the second was forced oblivious apathy, and now I'm going to write this now.
> 
> I'm having a tough time to write, evident that I only started writing this chapter weeks ago and didn't even make to my usual 4-5k words/chapter. Maybe because I suck, or maybe because I've been busy with online classes and LoL. But my mind will always be invested in this story so if any of you wants to see more of this fic, don't think that this had died or something. It's already outlined so it's gonna be fine!

I really want to see him the next day but he’s seen enough of me and I don’t want him to get fed up with my presence—it will certainly annoy him.

Plus, his suspension will be lifted tomorrow Tuesday so there’s that!

Today’s classes felt almost all the same with all Monday classes. They are long, tedious, and annoying. Luckily, all students got called in the gymnasium for a guest speaker’s speech because mostly after those, we get to go home early.  “Good day to you all, my children.” A tall man wearing a long black sleeve spoke on a podium with his voice covering the whole gymnasium through the speakers. He is clad decently, taking after from his respectable posture with his clerical collar quite noticeable. It’s Father Maxi.

After the formalities, he started preaching about the subject of adolescent teen life. Well, it’s what most guest speakers we have usually talk about that we don’t listen to but actually is beneficial to us. “Such mentality befalls the young’s mind and they may think that, ‘I’m old enough to do whatever I want!’ As such, they resort to rebellion and this is where they experience the tragedy of an unguided journey to life.” Even though Father Maxi can see most of the students not paying attention to him, he still continues to speak. I decided to listen though, because this is what the youth of today lacks most—guidance. I’m glad that Tweek and Token beside me have the same thinking.

30 minutes had passed and he still went on unwaveringly. It’s starting to get boring though. This is why I don’t go to church that frequently. 

“At last, a piece of advice to you all. Do not  _ ever _ rush in life.” This particular advice took my attention. “ Whatever may the youth are curious about; whether it be your careers, your future life partners. It will all come to you as you grow up. Never rush on those, instead, enjoy your young life as much as possible.

“May you also choose wisely on who you enjoy it with. With those who we deem are friends, we question whether they are of good or bad influence.” I look beside me, to Tweek and see him also looking at me. He smiles at me then turns back to the speaker. It’s safe to say I’m in good hands.

“And most importantly, we choose wisely of who we love. Question whether the feelings you have for the other are true. Or even ask yourself whether it’s attraction or infatuation. Why not have-” But the rest of his speech went blank on my mind.

_ Whether the feelings you have for the other are true. _

_ Attraction or infatuation. _

My mind promptly went to Craig. The priest actually went an hour before he ended his session but those words that he just said got mostly stuck in my head. 

Even as I walked home, I started questioning myself about my feelings for Craig. All I know is that I just want to see him every day like no day is ever complete without being with him. 

Infatuation? Well, he is handsome. Compared to me, he’s really,  _ really _ good looking. He’s an eye candy. Don’t get me started with his hair, oh and also his eyes, or his everything he’s perfect. But do I just want him because I’m enticed with his looks? Hell no. I know it’s more than that.

Or how about attraction. Well, I like him as a whole. Like how he’s such a cool guy, like how he makes everyone around him happy.

To be honest, I’m not asking the right questions. The thing I want to know is how did I know that I have feelings for him? It’s that night under the rain. Under the orange light.

_ I see three words on the back of my head and my heart says to read it aloud. I love you. _

It all started with that line of thought. How did I even come up with it? Is it because I just knew then that he and Tweek was actually not a thing and decided to go for it? But I know I’m straight then. Well, maybe I was really unaware of my feelings for Craig.

The thing is… I really don’t know.

I felt my phone vibrating in my right pants pocket. It’s a chat.

_ [2:48PM]Craig: Be seeing you tomorrow _

And above the text chat is a picture of him and Tricia seated in what seemed like a table in the Bennigan’s. Both have plates of steak in their front and neither are smiling in the picture. But I know that look on Craig’s face.

He’s happy.

My heart rate paces and my stomach begins to flutter. A smile crept up in my face and I felt like my day was already complete. These feelings that I have for him, it doesn’t really matter at all. As long as I have Craig, I would feel like I can be happy forever. And that feeling alone makes me want Craig to feel happy, too. 

That’s what matters the most.

And as luck would have it, the dim clumped group of clouds started to sprinkle water. It may not be raining, but at least it made me remember the night I had with Craig. I wish he was here with me. Maybe we could be closer than that night. Well, that is if he let me once again. 

I kind of forgot that this is actually just a one-sided crush. But I pushed the thought away. Instead of running on the roads under the sprinkling water like we did that time, I decided to walk slowly, savoring every little drop of water that makes contact to my skin.

I guess the rain will never be the same again. If I once associated raining with sadness, then I’m glad to say it will never be sad again. 

Because it will always remind me of Craig. It will always remind me of  _ that _ time.

It will always make me happy.

With my phone in hand, I thought I should give Token and Tweek a message. I figured we better do something for tomorrow.

* * *

It’s 8:39 in the morning and I just woke up. I overslept even though I slept early yesterday night. My body doesn’t really want to get up but I forced myself to do so. 8AM is my foreign language class, so I’m late! Oh, Dad, why didn’t you wake me up?

My body feels heavy and I have this splitting headache but I still ran around the house trying to fix myself up for school.

Shower? No time.

Brush teeth? Okay.

Wash face? No time.

There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to go to Jap class at this late. Fuck, this is the first time I got late in a class. Like ever. If I run fast across the town, maybe I can manage to be in time for math class. Be late and she’d go bananas screaming ‘Fucking out!’ to me.

Halfway through the running though, I became entirely nauseous that I stopped the fast pace. I barely have covered some distance but my clothes already felt sticky and damp from my sweat and I already feel so exhausted. I’ll just walk then.

Thankfully, I’m 5 minutes early! I can still clean myself up before class. And math class today is different. Ms. Fucking-out is gone and is replaced by Mr. Mission. 

“Are you okay, Clyde?” I hear Token whispering beside me as the teacher discusses something about something I’m not listening to. For some reason, I don’t feel good speaking today, So I nodded at him.

I’m happy to finally see Craig. And I’m really happy to see all of us complete together again in our cafeteria booth. But I don’t exactly feel awesome today to enjoy much of the mood. It must have been the lack of sleep or whatever. I’ll just have to eat this out.

I see Craig raises both of his brows at me, that’s his way sometimes to ask if I’m okay. I nodded in affirmation.

“-So we should be in our A game later today!” Tweek urges. Oh right, the history presentation. Since ours were the ones of the last to present, expectations would be higher. 

Craig looked up for a moment and spoke, “I don’t think I remember a single thing from that anymore.”

Tweek gasps in shock, “Craig!”

Token speaks, “Well, Tweek, in his defense, it’s been like a week so..” 

Tweek made a worried face, “Oh, don’t tell me that you also-”

Token scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah…”

“Token!” Tweek exclaimed. He started twitching in anxiety then we saw a little smile on his lips. His brows slightly curved downward and started laughing. We laughed too, having a small amount of time to enjoy things because later on, we’ll be cramming in mid-discussions in the next subjects for our forgotten presentation.

* * *

Last subject. Hooray! But we have to report a presentation. Awwww.

We are huddled together in the back to prepare ourselves. I might be a little nervous, but not as Tweek. No one ever is as nervous and as anxious as Tweek.

“Oh my God, what if he asks more than what we present?” Tweek asks. The students presenting in the front are about to finish their presentation making Tweek’s pace of breathing become erratic and he started twitching like he is back in 4th grade again. 

Token replies, “Everyone knows he’s not like that. You can relax, Tweek.” Through Token’s gentle assurance, Tweek’s anxiety just went unfazed.

Tweek looked like he wanted to start biting on his nails. “Okay, but what if he asks a part of something you didn’t present? Or what if he finds a hole in our presentation? Aaaagh! You  _ guys _ !”

“Tweek.” Craig’s deep voice suddenly pops in. “It will be alright.” He puts a hand on Tweek’s shoulder and caresses it. “Everything will.” He then looks at him straight in the eye and puts up a smile. Suddenly, Tweek’s twitching stopped, his breathing became normal, and he looked absolutely fine again. 

Only Craig can do that to Tweek. And only to Craig’s touch will Tweek calm down.

I know they said just a week ago that they were not a thing for years now but the idea didn’t make me any less of a jealous person. Maybe they’re still just keeping it a secret and are still dating. But hey, who am I to get jealous? It’s not like we’re together or something. And I admit it, the chemistry between them is better than what I imagine for Craig and I to have. 

I do, I’m really happy Craig’s back but Goddamn it!

My part of the presentation went fine, although with a bit sputtering and the obvious cold sweat dampening my clothing. And with Craig at Tweek’s side, Tweek never seemed nervous at all. Like I said, chemistry.

Craig continued presenting, “Watercolour painting paved the way for the English artists to illustrate landscape settings and became popular at the time. This period is regarded as a specialty for the cultivation of art as it forms a certain culture.”

For how he presented the rest, he really seemed to know our whole presentation-not just his part- from top to bottom. He didn’t sound like he just read stuff just hours ago and started spouting shit in the front, no. He must have studied days ago. He must have just joked around during lunchtime.

After Craig gave the closing remarks, the students in our front looked like they wanted to give us (or maybe just Craig) applause. 

For how he seemed so different back then when he was shaking as I held him in his room compared to now, he really deserved that applaud. Well, I would’ve given it to him, but would he care?

* * *

Craig insisted for us to go home already but I firmly declined. Instead, I pushed him to go with us to Tweek’s house. It’s the thing I texted Tweek and Token yesterday. And Craig seemed already knowing where this leads to.

We let him first inside the house and of course he didn’t see any balloons or party decor in the house because it’s not his birthday, but there’s still a lot of food on the table. Boxes of pizza, bags of tacos, tall thermos of choco (because Craig hates coffee), and of course, my lemon bars. I wonder why I baked those again, maybe it's just the thing I know how to cook. I almost snickered at the thought.

“Wow,” said Craig in a dull yet, mocking tone, “I didn’t know you miss me that much.” 

“It’s for what we did in History class, dumbass,” Token retorts. “We really had a fun time without you, you know? It was fun while it lasted.”

“I fully agree with Token,” Tweek chuckles. “Fuck you, Craig.” We all looked at Tweek, shocked for him cussing because it was very unlikely of him. Then we all got into a laughing fit. Tweek really knows how to liven up the gang. 

Like what we always do at Token’s we boot the console in the living room and eat stuff as we play, throwing some talks here and there at some point. We played a Mortal Kombat game because Tweek only has two controllers, not enough to play the Rayman Legends game again. It’s not fair to fight Token because he’s so good at it and it’s boring to play with Craig because he sucks at every game. But we still had fun nonetheless. 

Because we are together. 

Without Craig in the group, we became quieter although he doesn’t usually talk a lot when he’s around. Although this is true for every single one of us, it’s just that we know what Craig’s going through that’s why we felt a bit sad when we think of him.

After Craig’s loss for like the hundredth time, Token suggests that we watch a movie. And knowing Token, it’s mostly anime.

We watched Weathering With You.

“Clyde?” Craig calls, nudging lightly on my arm. “Uh, Clyde?” I opened my eyes, struggling with the heavy eyelids— I’m sleeping? Craig is looking at me with a weird face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just a bit sleepy,” I replied, although the splitting headache from the morning is starting to go rampant in my head once again and I also feel like throwing up. 

“Clyde,” Token jokingly scolds, “Stop disrespecting this piece of art and watch, okay?” 

Craig beside me shook his head and lit a half smile. “Don’t worry about him.” But I didn’t sleep on that moment afterwards, this event was supposed to be for Craig, right? 

Damn it, I’m really great at ruining things.

* * *

I was shivering down to the spine when Craig and I walked home but Craig doesn't seem to be bothered by the cold. I didn't know where it came from or how it started, but Craig and I are shouting at each other.

"Just admit it!" I said, "You and Kenny made the second wave of Eavesdropper! That’s why your name and Kenny’s never got mentioned even once.”

Craig rolls his eyes. “That’s presumptive. Maybe I just don’t have any bad things with me compared to all of you.”

“Then why were Cassidy’s almost nonexistent freckles have been posted twice and your obvious fucked up teeth not even once?”

Craig’s brows immediately scrunches. “Fuck you, Clyde, those were baby teeth and look at me now,” he shows a toothy grin to prove a point and heck were his teeth perfect. “See?” And I must say, he looks so much livelier and jolly as he wears that toothy grin. Stan immediately comes to my mind.

“But that’s not the point.” I say.

“Yeah, same with talking about the second Eavesdropper.” Craig trails for a while then he murmurs, “Theresa really ruined us after publishing the wrong info about Kevin.”

“I knew it!” I exclaimed. I still cannot forget the anger I had the one time they insulted my look wearing my favorite letterman jacket. Yet despite my display of anger, Craig just laughs beside me. “Stop laughing!” I demand, my face getting warm in anger but as I see him laugh heartily with his mouth open wide releasing a noise of enjoyment, my vexation quickly faded. I find myself laughing with him now. Really, no matter what happens, Craig’s happiness will also be my happiness.

Eugh, that’s hella sappy.

The temperature is decreasing even more as my hands are now visibly shaking from the cold, and Craig still seemed not affected. Craig seemed to notice this so he put an arm over me and I was taken aback with the sudden warmth his touch offers. 

The heat is coming back to my face, fuck! Am I blushing? I hope not. I uncharacteristically became quiet—the mood between us suddenly became awkward and Craig now seems… embarrassed? Now that I think about it, he is a little more talkative than his usual normal manner of talking.

A thought from way back in the day suddenly comes to mind. “The presentation. You did awesome back there.”

“Really? I thought it was kind of bad. Missed a lot of things to say about some things.”

“You were cool. You must have really studied hard for this.”

Craig nods, “Of course, it’s the least I could do for being a shit friend these days. We did so much that day and I don’t want it all to fall apart because of me. Or else Tweek would freak out and I don’t want that to happen.”

I was about to say that he was never a  _ shit _ friend, but my insecurity clouded my better judgment. “You must really be fond of him, of Tweek” I say wistfully.

Craig lights up a smirk, “Aw, are you jealous?” He says in a cooing tone.

Of course, I am! “Of course, not,” I firmly say. 

Craig pulls his arm slung on me to his side and my half was enclosed with the warmth of his body. I’m pretty sure my face is now red as a tomato. “Oh, come on, Clyde,” he says in a cool tone and proceeds to chuckle lightly.

I was kind of hoping he would be more serious with what I just said. I guess he’s now back to the Tucker he’s supposed to be, the polar opposite of a touchy-feely like what happened a week ago never happened at all. I really thought we would be more emotionally connected after that but I guess that’s just wishful thinking. I think I should stop wishing for Craig and I.

But I am glad. This makes me feel like we’re back on the normal again where we are so much happy with one another as friends. But right now, the more I look at his smile, the more I believe it can never go back the same way again. And I really thought I can keep this away and be happy with being just friends with him but now I’m dying to be past that. 

But Clyde, that’s impossible! Just look at him; he’s kind, kind of smart, looks good, has a good family, and has a great life. You’re even fucking lucky to be friends with him. Heh, why am I even pining for him when clearly he can never look at me the same way. Not only I’m wasting my time, but I’ll only be wasting some incoming tears.

And fucking look, he’s now chatting someone else with his free hand. I’m just here beside you, Craig. Clearly, I’m not enough for you. His warmth on my side faded, replaced with the usual cold I’ve been experiencing as tears started to prick on my eyes and of course, Craig is still typing something on his phone. 

Luckily, the tears never made it out as I was surprised that I am now in front of my house, and we just went past his house. “You won’t be coming home?” I ask.

“Just staying for a little while. If that’s fine for you?”

But at least we got to do stuff like this. Because we are friends.

It’s weird, but as we entered my room, he promptly went for my drawers and grabbed the lightest clothes he could find and offered it to me. “Change into this,” he says.

I would really like to argue but right now, I just feel mentally and physically exhausted for the day and so I relented. After coming out of the bathroom, Craig is nowhere to be seen, so I turned on the PC and searched for the channel I know he loves so he can enjoy his stay here. If I remembered correctly, 8 minutes from now and we would be watching Red Racer together.

I was watching the commercials, sitting on the edge of my bed when Craig comes into the room with a glass of water and a tablet in his other hand. I tilted my head wondering what the hell is Craig doing and why is he being so out of character right now.

“Your Dad wants you to be healthy,” he says nonchalantly. ” Here’s vitamin pill.” He drinks one that he’s holding and gives the other to me. I examined the tablet and I know the vitamin ones we have downstairs are orange and not this white thing. Craig wouldn’t drug me, would he? Since he drank one, I once again relented.

After gulping the glass of water, the feeling I encountered in the morning started coming back; the splitting headache, the numbness of my body, and I just want to sleep so much. A drug won’t be this fast, so it must be just me. I lay myself down on my bed and closed my eyes, forgetting that Craig was just there in front of me. “Just a nap for a little bit. I’m sorry,” I say quietly, did he hear it?

“It’s okay, Clyde. It’s been one hell of a day,” he says softly. I heard the PC turning off and some walking Craig has been doing until I feel him settle on the carpeted floor beside me. 

I find it hard to sleep with this roaring headache and no matter how much I shift in the bed, I still can’t relax. Moments later, a comforter blanket covers me, taking the cold I've been feeling for so long. I felt a soft hand gently caressing my hair, and it took seconds for me to feel at ease and almost at sleep. I couldn't even open my eyes anymore.

The stroke of the hand was so mellow and full of comfort and love. Craig said he’d be here for just a while so it must be Dad. He must have come home early.

No matter how much I wished for it, it can never be Craig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is an idea that I had in July and I just started writing this little by little from last month and I really have no idea why I wanted to name this chapter Conglaturations. Also, I am aware the story title doesn't make any sense to the content I have for now. It will though.


End file.
